Burning Bright
by mozie
Summary: Sequel to Ignite. Since returning home, Maya has adjusted to the life of a victor, but living with her grief for Sheb is harder, especially now that the victory tour has arrived. Standing in front of the Justice Building in Twelve she makes an important decision; she won't play the Capitol's Games any longer. Sometimes there are more important Games to play. 'Perfection'- Reviewer
1. What victory?

**Sequel to Ignite so read that first.**

* * *

 **What victory?**

Being back on the tribute train triggers unpleasant memories. At dinner, I slouch at the carved mahogany table with my mentors and team, pretending to listen as my escort outlines the next three weeks. I already know what's in store for me; every year I have been forced to watch the Victory Tour, along with every other citizen of Panem. I don't seem to have any appetite which is a shame because the food is incredible.

When I am finally allowed to leave, I go back to my quarters and take a long shower before pulling on a pair of soft cotton pajamas made out of a shimmering sliver material. There are tiny embroidered stars and moons up one arm and leg of the outfit which seems a little bit overkill as it is simply designed for sleeping in. I lie diagonally across the bed and stare up at the ceiling. Sleep is impossible and although I know it'll make me homesick, I allow myself to think back to the goodbyes of the morning. At any rate, it's easier than remembering my previous journeys on this train which is the other topic that my brain insists on focusing on.

Originally I didn't want my sister and little Rosie to accompany me to the station because I knew that the goodbyes would be even harder with an audience. I know that this is simply the Victory Tour and that I will be home in just over a fortnight but the whole situation reminded me horribly of the goodbyes I endured in the Justice building before Sheb and I left for the Games. Even so, it turned out that I didn't have a choice and I was forced into an emotional farewell scene, not only with what remains of my own family, but also with Rue and her family. I suppose that I'm lucky in a way; when three members of my extended family were executed nearly a year ago, many of our family friends and my personal friends, decided not to continue our friendship. Also thanks to the Capitol I have no family left save my sister, father and Rosie. So, in the end, very few people whom I actually care about were at the station to wave me off.

Sheb. My eyes tear up in the way that they are inclined to do when I think about my brother. Over the last six months, I have learned to live with the crushing grief but although I can now function day to day, I know that I will always carry it with me. It is locked in my chest in a pocket of black grief, just below my heart, and sometimes, even now, I find myself doubled over and physically unable to stand up straight. When I first returned from the Capitol, I was a mess for weeks; terrified by the nightmares, I slept only when my sheer exhaustion won over my desire to stay awake. I barely ate. My sister waited patiently, cajoling me into eating, crying with me when the grief and guilt became too much for me to bear alone, sitting with me all night so that I wouldn't have to face the dreams alone. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the depression and the blame lessened to a dull ache and I was able to work around the ragged hole in my chest.

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed; there's no point in lying here if sleep won't come. There's a strange feeling in my stomach, although I can't work out if it's anxiety or hunger. It's probably a mixture of both since I have eaten next to nothing today. I was too wound up for breakfast and then came the lengthy task of making me look 'presentable', the drive to the station and the painful goodbyes. None of which gave me an appetite for the delectable meal I was served once I was on the train.

I cross over to the door and pad out into the corridor. I pause by the window, my attention fixated on the huge, blood moon that has risen on this side of the train. It's breathtakingly beautiful but it also carries an ominous hunger that has me shivering and pulling down on the blind so that I don't have to look at it any more. Blood moons are considered to be bad luck back at home.

I order warm milk and biscuits from one of the Capitol attendants and then I go and sit in the second lounge. This is smaller than the main lounge and has several deep purple armchairs ringed around a fake fireplace with imitation coals that glow red and orange and send up showers of no-heat sparks at regular intervals. The room lights up automatically as I step into it, but I override the controls until I am sitting in the half light. Then I stare at the fire, wondering how they managed to create something that looks more like the real thing than an actual fire.

My milk arrives and with it a plate of crumbly oat biscuits that turn out to be exactly what my unsettled stomach feels like eating. I take my time with the food, nibbling around each biscuit and sipping and blowing on the milk as I try to keep my mind occupied but despite my intentions it isn't enough and my mind fast forwards again. The Victory Tour. I have stopped myself from thinking about it because the idea of celebrating winning the Hunger Games is repulsive. I don't feel like a winner. If ever there was a bitter-sweet ending then this is it. But tomorrow I will arrive in District Twelve and the Tour will start for real and I will have to face a District that is grieving for its tributes whether I am ready or not. I try to remember the two of them but I can't picture their faces. I can only remember how they stood on their chariot, naked and covered with black coal dust, looking cold and miserable. And how, even under the dust, I could count each and every rib.

The sun has risen before I make my way back to my sleeping compartment and I finally fall into a fitful sleep just as the enticing scents of cooked breakfast start to waft through the train. It feels like seconds later when Aelia comes knocking at my door, telling me to get out of bed and reminding me that I have a 'big big day ahead of me'. When I finally arrive at the breakfast table, she purses her lips at the sight of my tired eyes and messy hair, before going back to her notes. I see a reflection of myself in the silver coffee jug and actually agree with her for the first time ever; I look terrible even by my low standards.

For the first time in my life, I take a large cup of coffee. The black liquid is so bitter that it makes me shudder but it banishes sleep like magic. After I've managed to force down two cups of the liquid my stomach feels full, almost sloshy, and I look at the rest of the spread without much interest. Seeder comes to sit next to me and she helps herself to a large plateful of stew before she speaks.

'Did you sleep at all, Maya?' I shrug in reply and Aelia clicks her tongue in a concerned way.

'I can give you some sleeping tablets if you'd like Maya,' she says. I am shaking my head before she's finished; I remember the fuzzy state of my brain the last time I accepted a sleeping tablet the night before the start of the Games. I don't want a repeat of that if I can avoid it.

'How are you feeling about the victory rally in Twelve?' Seeder asks. Her golden eyes seem to be scanning me, as if she is trying to read what's going on inside my head.

'Nervous I suppose,' I shrug again and reach for a plain white roll, hoping that it will settle my stomach because it seems to have accepted the coffee rather ungraciously.

'You won't have to say anything apart from the scripted reply, not if you don't want to.' Aelia hands me a copy of the script and I flick my eyes over it quickly. It says something about being grateful and humbled. My stomach clenches and I push my roll away.

Do I want to say something more? I mull over the question as my prep team prepares me for the day ahead. It isn't expected; tributes traditionally only add personal comments for allies or District partners. And I didn't have any of them apart from Sheb. My eyes tear up again and I blink rapidly, annoying Hero who is trying to put make up on my face. But at least I don't have to deal with the guilt and the blame associated with being personally responsible for these tributes' deaths. Not here in District Twelve at any rate.

I still haven't decided when Clio arrives, holding my outfit over one arm. When she holds it up for inspection, I'm surprised to see a long sleeved dress made out of soft white wool and matching tights. There are pearls sewn all over the bodice of the dress and up one leg of the tights. My surprise must register on my face because Clio crosses over to the window and pulls up the blind. Bright white light assaults my eyes and we are all blinded for a few seconds, which gives Clio time to explain.

'It's midwinter in District Twelve. Apparently its freezing cold and they've had to slow the train because there's ice on the line.'

I look out of the window and see that the train is running between high snow drifts that come at least halfway up the train. Beyond them I can see a vast beech forest. The bare branches of the trees are so heavy with snow that some of them have bent almost to the ground. Now that it's been pointed out, I notice the change in motion; we are going slightly slower.

The soft garment slides down over my naked body. I help to pull on the tights; I've never quite got used to the idea of being dressed although I suppose that I should be used to it by now. Finally my feet are covered with a pair of white slippers made of supple leather and lined inside with soft lambskin. They look ridiculously delicate considering the conditions I am about to subject them to and Clio seems to notice my scepticism because she tells me that they are waterproof, thermally insulated and have ice-grip soles. Of course they do…

When the train finally slows my heart seems to jump into my throat, constricting my airways and I have to remind myself to breathe slowly and regularly because I know from past experience that hyperventilating will only result in a panic attack and I will end up feeling even worse. The train doors finally slide open and we disembark onto a swept platform where the mayor of District Twelve himself greets us. I try to smile in response but the muscles in my cheeks seem to be frozen and not because of the weather. I suppose that it's lucky that Aelia can step in with her over-enthusiasm because it lets me slack somewhat and not appear rude.

Outside the station the ground has not been cleared of snow and it crunches underfoot. It's a strange sensation that I have never experienced before; the delicate resistance and then finally the give as you sink down into the ground. Then, just when you aren't expecting it, the crunch as the ice crystals bind together. I am so preoccupied that I don't notice that I am being introduced to the mayor's wife and daughter. Aelia clicks her tongue impatiently at my apparent rudeness but the two of them don't seem to mind: The mayor's wife is barely present, her eyes are slightly out of focus and she winces at each noise as if it causes her great pain. His daughter is a quiet, pretty girl and she smiles shyly at me as she shakes my hand but she doesn't speak. I forget their names almost as soon as I am introduced to them.

We drive through the streets in a Peacekeeper truck because normal cars would be unable to navigate the snowy roads. The windows are darkened which is a shame because I would like to see some of the District and it's unlikely that I'll ever come here again. Another District Eleven tribute will have to win the Games before I return here. I cringe inwardly; it is my responsibility to mentor the tributes from Eleven now. How many kids will I be forced to drill and direct into the Games. Will I ever bring any of them home?

We finally roll to a stop in front of a tall building made of a type of white stone that I've never seen before. I climb awkwardly out of the back seat and I get about three seconds to take in my situation before I am hurried inside. As we walk a single snowflake lands on my bare hand. It sits there just long enough for me to take in the delicate six-pointed star and then it melts, leaving a damp, cold, patch on my skin. I look up at the sky and although the clouds look full and ominous there doesn't seem to be any more snow falling at the moment. Then the doors swing shut behind me and I find myself in a narrow, dingy corridor with a mouldy and threadbare carpet and bare, peeling walls. The corridor is lit by several naked bulbs that hang from the ceiling at regular intervals and that give of a sickly yellow light that makes us all appear pale and ill.

I am told that we are in the District Twelve's Justice Building and for a moment I am slightly confused because I'm sure that I remember a more imposing building from the televised reapings. I soon realise that we've simply been led in through the back entrance to avoid the crowds that have already started to gather in the square. Apparently they are awaiting the ceremony with avid anticipation although I take this comment with a pinch of salt. To be honest I don't know why they are even pretending because it's no secret that the citizens of each District are forced to attend and to appear welcoming to the new victor.

The set of rooms that we are allocated is at the back of the Justice building. They are musty with disuse, probably because they are only ever used once a year. Mine smells violently of cleaning fluid but it doesn't quite cover up the smells of damp and neglect and my nose starts tickling almost immediately. Clio applies a couple of finishing touches to my face and hair and then we are whisked through a maze of dusty corridors to the front of the building.

Someone clips a microphone to the front of my dress and as the last strains of the anthem echo into silence, the doors are flung open and someone gives me a small push. Caught by surprise, I stagger and the mayor is forced to grab my arm to steady me or I'd probably end up falling off the stage.

My first impression is that the square looks a lot bigger in real life than it does on the television. Even so, one quick glance tells me that it is far smaller than ours back at home and it's also in much better condition. The buildings that surround me actually have glass in the windows and each shop front has been painted a different colour.

Nearly the entire population of the District stands in front of me. They shiver in their tattered clothing that seems to be barely adequate for the freezing conditions and their white, pinched faces stare up at me, huge hungry eyes devouring me. Worst of all is the grief on the faces of the two families standing on the platform constructed at the bottom of the stage; the families of the two dead tributes. Troy and Ash. For the first time ever, I can remember their names although I don't remember ever being told them. There's a swell of muttering that quickly dwindles to an ominous silence as the mayor steps forward to the microphone set in the centre of the stage. I suddenly realise that I am terrified.

'Welcome Maya Stone, winner of the seventy third annual Hunger Games!' The ceremony begins and the mayor gives the scripted greetings and congratulations. I open my mouth to give the scripted reply but nothing comes out except an unintelligible high pitched squeaking. The mayor pauses, obviously slightly wrong footed but after it becomes obvious that he isn't going to get any more out of me he goes on with the ceremony. At some point, I am handed a small black shield. I glance at it and see my name and the words:

 _Winner of the Seventy-third Hunger Games_

 _Congratulations from District Twelve_

For some reason, this has me tearing up. Maybe it's the blatant lie; none of District Twelve are happy that I have won the Games. They are grieving over their own tributes and yet they are forced to stand there and pretend to celebrate my victory when nothing will ever bring the two of them back and fill the bottomless hole that they left behind them when they were ripped from their home. Or maybe it's the fact that I don't feel like a winner. I never have and I never will. I bend slightly to set the thing down on the stage because I can't bear to touch it with my bare skin any longer. Then I step forwards to the front of the stage.

My time for speaking has come and gone and although I haven't prepared anything, the words come to me as if I have practised them many times before. My voice shakes and the words come out haltingly but the microphone on my chest picks up my voice and sends it spinning into the remotest corners of the square.

'I… I just wanted to say how…' I swallow down the emotion and wipe an impatient hand across my leaking eyes. Then I try again and my voice has dropped to a whisper. 'I'm sorry for your loss. And I'm sorry that my victory meant that neither of your tributes could come home.' The crowd mutters; it's rare for a victor to say anything about a tribute that they never even had contact with but its innovative that a victor apologises for winning the Games.

'I didn't know Troy and Ash but I wish that I had. I know that many of you knew them personally and grieve for them every day. It's the same for my family. I may have won the Games but I also lost a brother in that arena and I miss him every day. I don't feel like a winner.' My voice cracks but the crowd is silent now and they pressing forwards in anticipation of my words.

'They were all too young to die and I'm sorry… I'm sorry that you had to die this way.' I look up at the sky as I say these last words. Then I turn and march back through the double doors, leaving my shield on the stage by the mayor's feet.

* * *

Hope you enjoy and Merry Christmas! As always, please let me know what you think.


	2. Decision

**Decision**

I am aware of the uncomfortable atmosphere before the doors have even creaked shut behind me and I look up to see my whole team staring at me, each with a different emotion etched onto their face. The silence stretches ominously but just as I open my mouth to say something in my defence a loud, rhythmical clapping starts up behind me and I swing round to see that we've been joined by a paunchy, middle aged man with lank blonde hair who looks slightly familiar to me.

'Way to go, sweetheart.' He raises his eyebrows sarcastically at me and shakes my hand. 'Haymitch Abernethy.'

'Haymitch! Good to see you…' Chaff crosses the small distance and embraces the stranger and I suddenly realise who this man is; Haymitch Abernethy is the only living victor from District Twelve.

'I don't even want to ask what's got into you young lady,' Aelia scolds, having evidently regained the power of speech. 'That was a disaster!'

She looks to be on the verge of tears and although I have no wish to cause her further distress I can't bring myself to comfort her. Nor do I want to apologise for what I have done so I just stand there, looking between Chaff, Haymitch and Seeder. And as I stare at them, I notice small similarities between them, despite their differences in looks; it's something in their eyes and in the way that the corners of their mouths droop slightly. They have seen too much. I wonder if I look the same already or whether it will happen gradually as I send tributes to die in the Games year after year after year. The thought repulses me and I look away.

'Well, we need to get you into your outfit for dinner.' Clio finally says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

The tension is broken; Aelia turns away, still shaking her head disbelievingly. Chaff, Haymitch and Seeder follow us down the dingy corridor and turn into the small sitting room we've been allocated. It's full of mouldy old armchairs and several dusty cabinets but someone has placed a selection of alcohol on the coffee table so I'm guessing that's where the attraction lies.

It isn't until I am dressed in an icy blue cocktail dress and strappy sandals made of supple black leather that the fear hits me and I suddenly find my heart racing and sweat prickling uncomfortably under my arms. The silky fabric of my dress does nothing to absorb it and it oozes uncomfortably against my skin, making me feel both clammy and sticky. I excuse myself and hurry into the bathroom where I lean over the sink, breathing deeply and trying to head off the impending panic attack.

What have I done? It is some minutes before I can answer this as my panic seems to make me incapable of managing coherent thought. I have publically condemned the Capitol. Again. My pulse starts to slow as I stare at the off-white porcelain. The sink is broken; there's a jagged crack running down the centre, almost exactly half way between the two rusty taps. It reminds me horribly of the two halves of my life; the child who I was before the Hunger Games and the post-Games version that I still haven't quite figured out.

I close my eyes, still breathing slowly and rhythmically. This is the path that I chose six months ago during the post-Games interview. I try to imagine how I would feel if I had simply chosen to play along with the Capitol but a powerful wave of combined nausea and disgust at this phantom me has me reeling backwards; I chose not to play their Games any longer. I chose to fight for Sheb.

'Maya, are you alright in there?' Seeder raps on the door and I jump backwards, my eyes flying open.

'Yes… yes… I'm fine…' My reply sounds muffled, almost as though I am fighting back tears. I wonder if I am; my face is bone dry but I've cried so much in the past six months I could well have run out of tears. My body's first line of defence against dehydration.

I cross back to the sink and stare at my reflection. I look pale, even through the layer of makeup, and the pale pink eyeshadow doesn't quite hide the dark shadows left by sleepless nights that surround my eyes. I'd dearly love to splash some cold water on my face but I can imagine Clio's remonstrations so I settle for running my wrists under cold water. It makes me feel slightly calmer but only slightly. Then I go over to the door and pull it open, hitching what I hope is a relaxed expression onto my face.

'Are you sure that you're okay?' Seeder asks brusquely, looking me up and down. I nod numbly and look at the floor, sure that she will read the lie in my eyes.

'Good, good… she's beautiful, she's lovely!' Aelia bustles over to me, her face lit up by a dazzling smile. I recoil slightly when I see that several of teeth have been inlaid with rubies at some point since the Games. The colour contrasts harshly with the electric blue scleras of her eyes, giving her a slightly daemonic appearance. Apparently I have been forgiven for my bad behaviour earlier because she ushers me in front of her down the dingy corridor to the where the rest of my team are waiting.

'You did well out there Maya,' Seeder's voice is low in my ear and I'm sure that I am the only one who can hear her. I turn to her and open my mouth to reply but at that moment the doors are flung open and Aelia's hand is like a death grip on my upper arm as she pulls me forward into what seems like an undistinguishable array of ceremonies, dinners and train rides.

* * *

Each District passes with little to discriminate it from the coal mining District. District Nine is bad: I stand on the stage, unable to hold back the tears as I stare at Maisie's family, my own grief mirroring the sadness I see etched on the faces of her parents and her three younger siblings. District Eight, Seven, Six and One are even worse because here I was personally responsible for the deaths of one or more of their tributes. The guilt and sorrow flows out of me in a rush of words and my speech in these Districts seems even more real and poignant because here I have even more to apologise for. It was kill or be killed in the arena but this fact does nothing to absolve my actions or to diminish the guilt. I feel dirty, tainted. But then I should because nobody decent ever wins the Games.

I do my best to avoid the others when we're on the train but the nightmares are unrelenting and more than once I find myself being shaken awake by Seeder, Clio or Aelia. Aelia offers me sleeping tablets and, when I refuse them, starts ordering a special menu every supper time which always seems to include calming drinks made of warm milk, flavoured with various spices and sweeteners. My appetite is all but non-existent anyway and the amount of milk starts to nauseate me until just the smell of it is enough to make me taste bile in my mouth.

The night we leave Four an electrical storm causes some sort of power failure which leaves the train stranded half way between the two Districts. We are told that the fault should be rectified by morning and also that we will still be on time for the afternoon ceremony. Not that I care at all but Aelia and the rest of my team seem to be relieved. After dinner, I go back to my compartment but I start to feel claustrophobic almost as soon as the door slides shut behind me. I push it open again and stagger out into the narrow corridor that links all the sleeping compartments. The close proximity of the walls here does nothing to quell the panicky, trapped feeling that is growing exponentially inside my chest, crushing my lungs and constricting my airways so that I have to fight for every breath. I half run down what feels like half the length of the train before I finally find the exit.

I force open the door, ignoring the alarm that shrills out and step out into the crisp, salty, sea air, drawing in deep, calming lung-fulls. Salt spray numbs my bare face and hands and sends my hair into a scurrying mess of disarray. I grin as I imagine my prep team's discomfort tomorrow and turn towards the boiling, inky-black sea. There is something powerfully drawing about its bottomless depths. It's alive and breathing and it knows that I'm here. I take a step towards it but draw back immediately as a huge wave breaks against the train embankment, sending up cloud of salty spray that drenches the posh velvet outfit that Clio dressed me in for the after-ceremony banquet in Four. I laugh out loud and spin on the spot, tasting the air with my tongue and feeling more alive than I have in months. It feels so good that I throw my arms up as if to embrace the air and spin again and again until I have to stop because I'm dizzy and out of breath.

'Maya?' I spin round again, blushing as if Seeder has caught me doing something indecent rather than just dancing in the salt-spray.

'What?' I say, more aggressively than I meant to. 'Sorry… you caught me by surprise…'

'I just wanted to make sure that you're okay. When you triggered the alarm, I was worried that you…' She trails off and I wonder what it is that she is struggling to say? Did she think that I was about to run off completely? Or maybe she thought that I am depressed enough to drown myself in the sea?

'Are you okay, Maya?' She asks bluntly, almost as if she can read my thoughts.

'I'm f…' But somehow, the word 'fine' gets stuck half way up my throat and I cough. 'I don't know why I'm doing it…' My voice has dropped to a whisper that is barely audible against the rush and ebb of the sea behind me. 'He's dead… he's gone! He's not coming back! So why am I still fighting?' My throat burns and I turn away, hoping to disguise the tears on my cheeks amid the sea spray. The wind whips away my tears almost as soon as they form.

'I don't know Maya,' Seeder grabs my shoulder and turns me round to face her. 'I can't answer that for you, no one can.' The fact that she hasn't even tried to answer me actually comes as a relief and I find my breaths coming steadier.

'I don't want them to do this to anyone else…' I say plaintively, almost childishly. For the first time in months I feel like the small twelve-year-old that I am. 'I don't want them to rip apart any more families and I don't want to play their Games any longer.' The twelve-year-old is gone again as I stare up defiantly into Seeder's face, my heart racing so fast that my throat feels even more constricted.

'I want to follow in my mother's footsteps. I want to unite the Districts against the Capitol.'

'The perfect touch of rebellion,' Seeder breathes, and she crushes me against her chest.

* * *

I am exhausted by the time we reach the Capitol but the tour is far from over. I am forced to make endless appearances for the public; interviews on the stage before the Training Centre, dinners with prestigious Capitol politicians, drinks with the sponsors who kept me alive in the arena. In between I am pinched and pummelled into the latest Capitol fashions by Clio and my prep team. My face is covered with so much makeup and is washed off so often that my skin starts to dry up and Clio is forced to start using a thick moisturiser that makes my face feel as though it is covered with inch thick goose-grease.

The tour finally draws to a close with a party in the banquet hall of President Snow's mansion. A fancy car with blue tinted windows and smoothly upholstered seats of cream-coloured leather drives us through the brightly lit Capitol. My dress tonight is made of black silk and it has thousands of tiny pearls sewn painstakingly onto the bodice in the shape of a bolt of lightning. The slippery material causes me to slide down the leather seats and, in the end, Chaff is forced to remove his jacket so I can sit on it because every time I hitch myself up I rumple the back of my dress and this is apparently causing both Aelia and Clio deep distress.

'Nearly over now Maya,' Seeder says quietly as we get out of the car in front of the President's mansion. I take a long, weary breath of the crisp night air and nod. Then I hand Chaff back his jacket, summon a smile onto my face and turn towards the crowd that lines the front steps.

The amount of wealth and power commanded by this one elderly man hits me as soon as we enter the banquet hall. The hall seems to be roofless and looks like it opens directly to the heavens above and thousands of tiny pinpricks of starlight wink down at us. In the Capitol the stars are all but invisible because of the light pollution from the streetlamps but here they look almost exactly the way they do at home and I feel a sudden powerful wave of homesickness. The orchestra floats on fluffy white clouds halfway between the floor and the ceiling and directly in front of them lies an immense, white-tiled dance floor. It looks slippery and I make a mental note to avoid it if I possibly can.

I turn instead to the immense trestle tables that are laid all around the room around which my prep team and mentors are now gathered. There's enough food here to feed everyone in my District for a month. Although it seems a shame not to take advantage of it, I can't quite bring myself to approach any of the tables. I turn instead to one of the elaborate sitting areas which are dotted almost haphazardly around the walls. Each has its own theme; some surround fireplaces, others large, ornate flower beds or delicately tinkling water features. This one is by far the simplest and is ringed on three sides by beds of damp ferns and looks surprisingly devoid of people; a single elderly gentleman, dressed in a neat but unremarkable midnight blue suit with a white rose in the lapel, is sat in the corner, seemingly nodding off against the arm of the sofa. I perch gingerly on the sofa opposite him and take a sip from my glass.

'So Maya Stone.' I choke and look up. Elderflower champagne catches harshly in my airways, burning the back of my throat and nose. The glass tips precariously in my hand but I ignore it. How could have walked into this? The hair… the suit… and the rose… this is his house! Why did I assume that Aelia would be right and that he would not be present because he does not enjoy parties?

President Snow stares at me with his unblinking snake-like eyes. He appears to be sizing me up and if I didn't know better then I'd say he was thinking of the correct thing to say. I do know better, however. The silence is for my benefit. To make me feel uncomfortable. It works.

'I wanted to have a little chat with you Miss Stone, do you mind?' He sits back and pats the free seat next to him in an invitation that I ignore. 'Very well, very well…' A cold expression slides onto his otherwise emotionless face and he leans forward again. I resist the urge to lean backwards, refusing to appear intimidated, hoping that the fear and revulsion that seems to be circulating around my body instead of blood, doesn't show on my face.

'My advisors are concerned. As am I, Miss Stone… as am I…' He drums his fingers against the arm rest of his chair.

'What are you concerned about?' I surprise myself with speech and if my voice doesn't quite come across as nonchalant as I would like it does, at least, appear steady.

'I think we both know what I am talking about, Miss Stone.' I don't give any indication that I have understood what he has said. 'Evasive though your speeches are, we both know what you have been trying to achieve.'

'I don't…' I begin, but as President Snow holds up a finger to silence me, I remember that conversation I had with Seeder beside the train tracks and I suddenly can't meet his eyes. The confusion I felt before I made up my mind wells up inside me again and I realise that it never truly left... I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know who I am anymore.

'Don't lie to me, Miss Stone.' President Snow takes a small sip from his crystal goblet and I find myself staring at the white wine inside it. Is it my imagination or does it now have a slightly bloody tinge to it?

'Your brother's death has understandably upset you. You are not thinking straight so I feel that it is only fair to warn you. What you are attempting will not succeed.' Combined anger and sadness at the mention of my brother bubbles in the pit of my stomach and I fight to keep it from showing on my face. 'If you continue with this mad venture then there will be repercussions.'

'Why don't you just kill me now?' The question escapes before I can prevent it. President Snow smiles coldly and leans forward again. The scent of blood and roses suddenly engulfs me and I start to feel sick.

'Oh I think that we can be more inventive than that, Miss Stone. Don't you?' And with that he stands and walks away from me towards the dance floor and I am left alone.

* * *

Hope you enjoy. I only got one review for the last chapter which is sad so please could you let me know what you think of this one!


	3. Sage advice

**Sage advice**

 _'_ _Oh I think that we can be more inventive than that, Miss Stone. Don't you?'_

I stare at the book in my hands, not really seeing it as unrestrained panic floods through my body. What did President Snow mean? It's been almost a month since I returned from the Victory Tour and my brain still refuses to settle on anything else. Have my actions placed my family and friends in danger once again? But even now, even when the fear seems to circulate through my body instead of blood, the thought of cooperating with the people who killed my mother as a traitor and who murdered my brother in the Hunger Games is repulsive.

'Maya, can you start dinner? I need to put Rosie down for a nap.' My sister's voice interrupts the stream of questions running through my mind and I look up to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, balancing a grizzling Rosie on her hip.

'Are you okay?' She asks bluntly; she's always been attuned to my feelings and it's always been nearly impossible for me to hide anything from her. I smooth my face into what I hope looks like an unconcerned expression and nod nonchalantly. My sister looks sceptical and I wonder why I'm even pretending; I've never been able to lie to her. Somehow she always knows.

I stand and cross over to her. Rosie reaches out for me as I approach. Her cheeks are an angry red colour and she's chewing on her fist.

'Are you being grumpy? Are those nasty teeth bothering you?' I ask, trying to keep my voice light. Unfortunately, it cracks on the last word and I grab Rosie to avoid my sister's concerned look. I swing her round and she chuckles reluctantly and removes her fist from her mouth so she can grab my hair instead. A dribble of saliva lands on my chin and I pretend to wince.

'Ew Maya Rose, yuck yuck yuck…' I pretend to bop her on the nose and she giggles for real.

'You're so good with her,' my sister says, as I hand her back the baby.

'I… I love you both.' My voice cracks again and I turn away to the scullery, hoping that Rosie takes a long time to settle so I have time to compose myself before the questions that my sister will ask; Saffron always says her mind and I've been sensing this particular questioning for some time now although I still have no idea what I'm going to say.

My hands shake as I chop onions on the scullery draining board, my thoughts returning to that last night in the Capitol once again and to President Snow's unconcealed threats.

 _'Your brother's death has understandably upset you. You are not thinking straight so I feel that it is only fair to warn you. What you are attempting will not succeed…'_

 _'…_ _it is only fair to warn you… it is only fair to warn you…'_

The knife slips and I wince as I feel a sharp pain in the fleshy pad of my thumb. I drop the knife onto the heap of blood-spattered onion slices and turn on the tap, running the cut under a stream of icy water. Blood mingles with the clear water in the bottom of the sink, making strange patterns against the white enamel and my stomach contracts as the sight triggers unpleasant memories.

'Maya are you okay?' I didn't hear my sister arrive and I jump horribly. My thumb gives a particularly painful throb and I wince again.

'I'm fine…' My voice breaks on the word 'fine' and I hear my sister's footsteps behind me. She takes my injured hand gently in her own and inspects the damage. Then she grabs a clean tea towel off the drying rack and wraps it tightly around my hand.

'Come and sit down; it looks nasty.' She steers me into the kitchen and pushes me into the rocking chair by the fireplace. Then she grabs the first aid kit from the dresser and digs around inside it until she finds what she's looking for.

'I think it needs stitches.' She says, in a low voice, pulling out antiseptic wipes and a needle and thread.

I glance down at the tea towel, which is already soaked bright red and my head spins. The rust and salt smell of blood fills my nostrils. It smells of the arena and I fight to keep the memories at bay.

'What's bothering you, Maya? You've been on edge for weeks.' My sister asks bluntly as she cleans the cut with an antiseptic wipe that stings so badly that my eyes start to water.

'I…' I watch as my sister threads a curved needle with sterile thread but look away as she starts the stitching; since my return from the arena, anything that involves blood makes me feel faint and queasy. I try to detach myself from the sharp stinging and the slight tugging sensation but it's hard.

'How much of the Victory Tour did you watch?' I finally mutter, stalling because it's so hard to put it all into words.

'Enough.' Saff answers shortly, as she chops the thread with a pair of scissors. 'And now you're worried whether or not you did the right thing.'

I was right; there is no hiding anything from Saffron. Not only is she very attuned to my feelings but she's also better at putting them into words than I will ever be. I glance down at my hand as she winds thin gossamer-like gauze several times around my thumb and tapes it in place.

'Can we go into the garden?' I ask suddenly; I don't feel comfortable speaking in this new house. The walls are probably laced with hidden microphones and I imagine dozens of Capitol attendants listening with baited breath to see if I say something treasonous, something that will justify them bringing me in for questioning.

'I need some herbs anyway,' Saff says, nodding and crossing over to the kitchen door.

It opens into a small garden with a few ornate flower beds full of cultivated Capitol flowers. Although they are pretty, the colours and the scents seem somehow contrived beside the wild flower meadows by the District boundary. Saff transplanted a few herb bushes after we moved here, squashing them in between the roses, tulips and hydrangeas. They didn't seem to appreciate it much though; the soil here is different from the rest of the District, probably because it's never been used for growing crops before and has never been fortified with compost or manure. Saff bends over a bedraggled-looking sage plant and starts to pick off the best looking leaves.

'I wanted… I thought that I knew what I wanted.' I think back to the conversation I had with Seeder beside the train tracks in District Four and shiver as I remember my certainty; I was so sure that I wanted to follow in my mother's footsteps. Where is that certainty now and why do I feel so confused?

'I wanted to stop the Capitol from ripping apart more families,' I say suddenly, my voice barely above a whisper. 'But I'm scared. I'm scared that the Capitol will retaliate before anything can happen. And anyway, what can I hope to achieve? I'm just a twelve year old. This is bigger than I ever imagined. I was just angry about Mum and about Sheb and I didn't want to cooperate.' My eyes fill with tears but I've finally said it out loud; the fact that I never intended for this to become as big as it has.

And then I tell Saff everything: The combined revulsion and confusion that I felt, standing in front of the Justice Building in Twelve. My certainty that night beside the train tracks in Four. And finally President Snow's threats and how scared I am that he will target my family and friends to punish me. My sister doesn't interrupt and lets me talk myself into silence. She then wraps her arms around me, pulling me close and kissing the top of my head. She smells of sage, baby powder and warmth and I find myself relaxing into her embrace.

'I know how confusing this must be…' I feel her breath stirring the hair on the top of my head as she talks. '…I'm so proud of you. If you help to ignite one District against the Capitol then you've achieved something amazing.'

'But everything I do comes back to you, Dad and Rosie.' I protest, pulling myself out of her embrace. 'If I can't keep the three of you safe then what was the point of it all?' My sister gives a strangled laugh and pulls me close again.

'Maya, you don't have to protect us. We're with you. Me, Dad, Rue, even little Rosie. We're all on your side.'

'But I don't want you to get hurt,' I scrub fiercely at my face to wipe away the tears.

'Maya…' Saff doesn't finish her sentence but she doesn't need to because I see the message clearly in her eyes: _They've already hurt us._

We stand, entwined around each other until my sister finally pulls away, wiping her eyes. 'Rue will be here soon and I haven't even started dinner.'

She stoops to pick up the sage leaves from the grass where she dropped them when we hugged and moves towards the kitchen. I start after her, knowing that she will appreciate some help with the food preparations but I glance up at my father's bedroom window and hesitate, biting my bottom lip in confusion and sadness: The window is shut and the heavy curtains are pulled so that no light can get through into the room beyond. I know that my father will still be in bed, lying there alone in the dark. He has barely moved for over a week now and either Saff or I have been bringing his meals to his room. Every few days, Saff cajoles him into taking a bath whilst I change the bed sheets, but our combined efforts do little to remove the scent of musty sadness that seems to cling to him. The move to this new house hasn't done anything to help his crippling depression. In fact, he seems even more confused and lost than ever and he barely eats; I'm forever carrying untouched plates of food to the garbage. I'm scared that he'll waste away because he wasn't large to begin with. His cheeks have that hollow, pinched look that his all too common in this District. It's frustrating and _wrong_ because the food is there; for the first time ever we have more food than we can eat, more variety than we've ever had before but it hasn't made the slightest bit of difference. I sigh, wondering if there's anything I can do to help him; it's been more than nine months since my mother was killed but he's as unreachable as ever and I'm scared that he has gone for good.

Ignoring the prickling of new tears in the corner of my eyes, I walk into the kitchen. My sister is chopping meat at the table and I cross over to her and pick up a knife, wincing as the movement tightens the stitches in my thumb.

'Don't get the dressing dirty, Maya.' My sister cautions and I nod and grab a plastic glove from the sink and pull it over my hand.

I chop the vegetables haphazardly into chunks of varying sizes and throw them into a large saucepan filled with water. My mind is still racing ahead and I'm not at all focused on what I'm doing. I've moved on to dicing herbs when I feel my sister's hand on my arm and look up.

'Maya, there's someone at the door.' I must've missed the knock in my preoccupation. I throw down my knife and wipe my hands on my jumper before sliding off the stool and walking briskly out of the kitchen.

I know that Rue is upset as soon as I open the door; her lips tremble and she looks like she is trying to hold back tears. My heart skips in nervous anticipation.

'Is it Fern?' Rue's sister Fern is still weak from the illness she had last year; she caught pneumonia, a common complication after measles and it has left her with a weak chest. Rue's parents won't take any money off me but I give them food at every possible opportunity. Last week, I even visited the apothecary and bought some medicine for Fern although it doesn't seem to have made the slightest bit of difference yet.

'No, Fern is fine but…' Rue bites her lip in a way that reminds me very strongly of myself when I am trying to hold back a wave of emotion. 'Do you remember Martin?' I rack my brains but finally am forced to shake my head. 'You know; Tansy's older brother. The one who wasn't quite right…' As Rue chokes on her words I suddenly know who she is talking about and my heart sinks. Tansy was a girl in my year at school and we were quite close for a time until my mother was killed. Then she, like so many others, started to treat me like a pariah. I can't say I've thought about her or her brother for nearly a year.

'Maya, he's dead…' Tears start to seep out of Rue's eyes and my heart sinks. '…he took a pair of night vision glasses from the orchards... the ones we use when we're too high up for the floodlights. He only wanted to play with them but…' I feel a jolt of combined nausea and anger in the pit of my stomach because I know without Rue telling me what has happened.

'…they killed him, Maya… the Peacekeepers. They shot him in the head right in front of us. He didn't mean any harm and…' Rue is crying properly now and I pull her into a hug. My own eyes are dry and blazing; although I am sad, I also feel an unparalleled anger and it makes me feel slightly dizzy. This is exactly why I decided to fight the Capitol. They have murdered another child without cause.

'Rue, that's horrible. He didn't deserve that.' I don't know what else to say.

Dinner is a subdued affair; none of us feel much like talking and little Rosie grizzles in her highchair as Saff coaxes her into eating a few bites of mushed-up rabbit stew. She doesn't seem to be that impressed and prefers to chew on the spoon, pressing it against her sore gums and dribbling all over her bib. Rue's news has taken away my own appetite and I play with the food on my plate, finally pushing it away feeling slightly nauseous.

After dinner I walk Rue back to her home in companionable silence. I give her a hug and hand her mother a large leather bag full of food before I turn to leave; it's the least I can do since they won't accept any money. As I pass my old shack, I can't help but look back over my shoulder and on an impulse, I suddenly turn back towards it and push open the rickety door. I step into the familiar living area, my eyes taking in the pitted wooden table standing in the centre of the room, the wobbly chairs, the curtains made of grain sacks and the smoke-blackened metal hearth. My heart wrenches with homesickness and longing as the memories flood through me: Sheb tap dancing on the table to entertain me when I was ill and my mother laughing by the hearth when my father sang a rude song. My father giving me a hand-carved toy horse for fourth my birthday so I could join in with Sheb's game of knights.

Inexplicably, I find myself smiling through my tears. This is the first time that I've revisited our shack since my return from the Games. I was afraid that it would trigger too many painful memories so even when I've visited Rue, I always looked the other way as I passed my old home. In a way, I was right. But I've realised that I'd rather remember than forget. This is the place where I will always feel closest to my mother and my brother.

As soon as I shut the door behind me, I start to run. Now that I no longer have to work in the orchards or go to school, I am never physically tired and so I find it hard to drop off to sleep, especially when I'm so worried. Chaff suggested alcohol and Seeder suggested exercise. I went with Seeder's option.

It's a forty five minute brisk walk from my old house to Victor's Village but I can run it in a quarter of that time. I add some distance by looping around the orchards where I used to work. It still feels odd to watch the people gathering in the late apple harvest and not be among them. Darkness has started to fall and the Peacekeepers have already lit the huge electric floodlights that will illuminate the trees so that work can continue throughout the night. Nearly all of the trees have now been stripped of their fruit. In a week's time the workers will be sent to another part of the District to begin the gourd harvest; pumpkin, squash, courgettes and other similar vegetables.

I speed up as I run past two Peacekeepers, dressed in their other-worldly white uniforms with their guns hanging loosely in their arms. I recall what they did to a simple minded boy earlier today and a burst of anger and adrenaline sets my legs flying.

* * *

I am very very sorry for the long wait between updates... had horrible writers block but I'm hoping that it's over now! Hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think.


	4. Fair warning

**Fair warning**

The night before the reaping feels like one of the longest that I have ever endured. I don't even try to sleep because I know that if I close my eyes then images of the two faceless children who will be reaped tomorrow will imprint themselves on the back of my eyelids. I am just as scared tonight as I was a year ago; not only will I be forced to mentor two of the District's children but I am also going back to the Capitol for the first time since the Victory Tour. My heart seems to be running at about twice the normal rate and adrenaline seems to be circulating through my veins instead of blood. It's very hard to sit still and I pace through the house for hours on end, unable to settle. I don't stop until I hear little Rosie and my sister waking up. It's a relief to have company after the hours of being alone with my thoughts.

Things have been pretty quiet here in Eleven. Life has continued as usual but sometimes I think I can feel a slight, almost imperceptible, change in the people around me. It's so subtle that I sometimes wonder if I am imagining it but behind the toil and struggle of day to day life there is something simmering. It's as though my refusal to play the Capitol's Games has ignited the spark of rebellion. I know that like a fire, the uprising will die out without further fuel and I honestly can't put into words how I feel about this. Beside the train tracks in Four I was so sure that this was what I wanted. I was sure that I wanted to follow in my mother's footsteps. But now I just feel exhausted and confused; President Snow's warning is never far from my thoughts. I am torn; a part of me wants to continue on this path that I have set up for myself but another part of me desperately wants somebody else to take the slack because I honestly don't think that I am up to it.

There's a slight thump, low down on my bedroom door, and I jerk out of my thoughts as the door is pushed slowly open, grinding over the soft carpet. Rosie is on the other side, looking pleased with herself. She's completely naked apart from a nappy and has obviously escaped from my sister's bedroom. I smile and extend my arms towards her, feeling my anxiety slipping away; like my sister, little Rosie has the ability to calm me down just by being in the same room as me.

'Hey beautiful,' I say softly as she pads across the carpet on hands and knees. She gurgles happily and gabbles nonsense as I lift her up and kiss her forehead. 'Shall we find you something to wear?' Rosie gives me a toothy grin in answer.

As I walk out into the corridor, my sister appears in the bathroom doorway, looking harassed. There are soapsuds all over her hair and her feet leave deep, wet footprints in the carpet. There's a towel wrapped haphazardly around her chest but water still runs off her in rivers.

'Oh good… she escaped while I was in the shower. I thought I'd forgotten to put the stairgate up…' I glance over to the top of the stairs and nod. Rosie squirms against my hip, wanting to be off and I grasp her more firmly, slightly afraid that I might drop her because she's getting strong and I am still quite small for my age. The fact that we now have more food doesn't seem to have added any meat to my bones, probably because I'm constantly jittery and edgy.

'I'll get her dressed. Go and finish your shower.' Rosie wriggles again before grabbing my hair and yanking it. 'Ow! No Rosie!'

Saffy smiles at us and I scowl back as I untangle Rosie's chubby fist. Then I cross over to my sister's bedroom, taking care to shut the door firmly before I release the baby onto the floor. She immediately grabs one of my sister's discarded socks and shoves it into her mouth and I smirk and cross over to the chest of drawers by the window.

The topmost drawer in the dresser contains Rosie's clothes and I grab the first two things that I can find; a pair of hot pink leggings and a flowery top. Then I pick Rosie off the floor and place her on the bed. She wriggles like an eel, obviously wanting to be off but I hand her a stuffed bear and she immediately sticks its ear in her mouth and settles down a little. I smile at her and tickle her tummy as I wrestle her into the clothes. Then I pull her up by her arms so she can practice standing.

'Ouch… I thought you might've learned some more about clothes while you were in the Capitol,' Saffy jokes as soon as she enters the room. I cast a critical eye over Rosie's outfit but I can't see anything glaringly obvious; it might be a bit bright but who cares?

'Shouldn't you be getting ready?' The leaden feeling returns to my stomach and I nod and lower the baby gently onto the floor. 'Maya…' I look up, concerned by the tone of my sister's voice. '…it'll be alright you know. It'll be hard but you'll have Seeder and Chaff to help you and we'll be here for you once you get back.'

I nod numbly, horrified by the tears in her eyes. I feel my own eyes starting to smart and bite my lip, refusing to give in and let the misery consume me. Like last year, I know that crying will only make the reaping seem more terrifying later on which is ironic considering that last year's reaping turned out to be one of the worst days of my life. I turn to leave to room but Saffy enfolds me in her arms, pulling me close. She smells of roses and baby powder. I pull away quickly, because I know that the longer she holds me then the more likely I am to break down. I have to be strong.

Once I'm alone in my room, I take a couple of seconds to pull myself together and then I turn to the enormous pile of clean clothes balanced precariously on the chair. I grab the topmost two items; a knee length denim skirt with colourful embroidery around the hem and a plain white shirt. The shirt is a little creased but I can't be bothered ironing it or finding something else to wear.

I dress myself so inattentively that it's over a minute before I realise that I am trying to shove my leg through the sleeve of the shirt. I have to re-button my shirt at least three times because my fingers are shaking so badly. As I push my feet into a pair of smart black sandals, I hear my sister crossing the hall and entering my father's bedroom. I hurry out to help her, forgetting to bush my hair in my hurry.

Saff is balancing Roise on her hip and cajoling my father into a shirt and trousers. I step forwards to help but draw back again almost immediately. My father looks worse than ever. Lines of exhaustion and defeat age him beyond his years and his hair has started to turn prematurely grey. There are dark circles under each of his eyes and his chin is black with stubble. He stares into the middle distance as my sister helps him down the stairs with one hand, still balancing Rosie on her hip with the other.

'Love you, Maya. We'll come and say bye before you leave.' She gives me a quick, one armed hug and Rosie bats me on the nose with a chubby fist. Then the two of them vanish through the front door, pulling my father along with them.

Left alone, the fear and anxiety that I've been fighting for hours threatens to sweep me under and I find myself tempted to run after them even thought I know that I am not allowed; as the newest victor I have to be filmed arriving at the Justice Building and Aelia has organised a car for me. Instead, I sink down on the floor at the bottom of the stairs and remove the good luck charm that I took into the arena out of my pocket. I throw it from hand to hand, trying to keep my mind focused on the bauble and not on what is about to happen.

There's a knock on the front door which wasn't pulled fully to by my sister in her haste. It is pushed slowly open, revealing a young man dressed in a neat jacket and chauffeur's cap standing on the threshold. He looks vaguely familiar but my mind refuses to place him.

'Maya Stone…' I nod numbly, despite the fact that this obviously isn't a question. '…the car to take you to the reaping…' He ducks outside again, evidently expecting me to follow.

I uncurl myself from my position at the foot of the stairs and stagger to my feet. I nearly trip on the doormat and grab onto the doorframe to steady myself. A splinter wedges itself in the palm of my hand and I wince. The pain brings me back into my body for the first time in hours and I realise that I do know this man; he used to work in the fields with Sheb and they used to walk home together after the evening shift. He lived in a shack three streets away from our old home.

Outside my house the world feels very still. There's no breath of wind, nothing to stir the leaves of the neatly cut hedge that rings my house. Everything looks the way it's always looked; the houses neat and orderly, the grass trimmed and the ornate flowerbeds pruned. But as I turn to walk towards the car, the ground seems to shift beneath my feet and I stumble. My body seems to move on autopilot as I climb into the back seat of the car. The chauffeur slams the door and I immediately start to feel claustrophobic.

My chest hurts. It's becoming more and more difficult to breathe. My ears tune out. Dizziness swims over me and I realise with academic detachment that I'm having a panic attack. I close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. I recite the standard lines in my head – no one has ever died from a panic attack, in ten minutes this will be over and I'll feel fine, I just have to let my body do what it needs to do. Gradually the iron bands around my chest loosen and the air flows freely into my lungs.

The car grinds to a halt in front of the Justice Building and the chauffeur gets out and pulls open the door. I step out and immediately recoil; cameras dot the rooftops and Peacekeepers are everywhere. The stage in front of me is identical to the one that stood there a year ago and I'm suddenly fighting to keep the memories at bay. I take a deep breath in, trying to steady my nerves. The scent of cinnamon and orange from the bakery on the other side of the square seems to have a calming effect on my heartrate. A camera swoops in for a close up as I climb the steps and I catch a glimpse of my reflection in its lens. I am relieved to see that my face is a calm mask once again.

I look around me, hoping to catch sight of a familiar face but the square is practically empty. A few people stand in small groups around the perimeter but most haven't arrived yet. The reaping isn't due to start for another hour. I've avoided this part of the District since the Victory Tour and I seem to have forgotten how dilapidated and run down the shop fronts are. This is supposed to be one of the better off areas of the District and yet it is still portrays an image of decay and despair. I briefly wonder how we must come across to the rest of Panem. We are definitely the underdogs, the lowest of the low.

The heavy door swings shut behind me and I am immediately accosted by Aelia Tiara who greets me overenthusiastically, kissing me repeatedly on both cheeks before holding me at arm's length and looking me up and down. She purses her lips slightly as she sees what I am wearing; I will not be reunited with my prep team until we arrive in the Capitol and she obviously does not approve of the skirt and blouse combo that I threw together. I have a sneaky suspicion that I will be forced to remove it as soon as I get on the train and find myself suppressing a snigger at the thought. There's nothing that she can do about it for the moment and she consoles herself by removing a comb from her clasp bag and attacking my hair. I wince as the comb digs into my scalp but I put up with it, lacking the energy to protest.

Mayor Silverhorn comments on how charming I look and I glance over at him and suppress a shudder; the skin hangs in loose wrinkles from his neck but is stretched taut over his hollowed cheeks. His eyes are sunken so deep into his head that it's hard to make out what colour they are. He looks more like a skull than a living, breathing human being.

'Maya…' Aelia hisses, giving me a sharp nudge and I quickly drop my gaze, because I'm having a hard time hiding my revulsion and my disgust is obviously evident on my face.

Time doesn't seem to be working properly; it crawls by and then races ahead in a blink. Seeder and I sit in a plush room, pretending to listen as Aelia and Mayor Silverhorn make small talk. The room is a carbon copy of the one where Sheb and I were forced to say our goodbyes a year ago. The only difference is the colour of the upholstery which is a deep plum instead of cherry red. It's all too familiar and I find it hard to follow the conversation. Instead, I trace patterns with my index finger on the smooth mahogany coffee table in front of me. My heart is speeding ahead and the room seems to be devoid of oxygen and I'm slightly afraid that I'm about to have another panic attack.

Chaff arrives with five minutes to go and Aelia immediately pulls a burgundy silk tie out of her bag and wraps it around his neck where it clashes horribly with his crumpled blue shirt. I suppress a smile; obviously this year she came prepared and I wonder what else the tiny clutch bag holds.

'Maya, it's time…' Seeder extends a hand towards me and I turn to look at her, feeling the smile sliding off my face. For the first time since I met her, I see my own fear reflected in Seeder's golden eyes and I realise that being a mentor obviously doesn't get any easier as the years go by. My heart clenches and I stand automatically, grabbing her proffered hand as though it's a lifeline.

On stiff legs, I follow the mayor and Aelia down the main staircase, trying to keep my breathing under control. It was obviously once a beautiful white-marble structure with intricate carvings on every pillar but age and use has discoloured it and there are chunks missing out of every step. I run my free hand over the bannister and my fingers come away thick with dust.

The doors are pushed open with a long, drawn out squeak that sounds like the whimper of an animal in pain and which sets my heart racing in my chest. My knees lock in place and Seeder is forced to pull me along with her to our designated seats at the back of the stage. I blink as bright light assaults my eyes and struggle to see after the dingy interior of the justice building. Thousands of faces stare up at me from the square below. Thousands of terrified children stand corralled in pens in front of me. An ominous silence falls as Mayor Silverhorn steps up to the microphone.

'Welcome to the seventy fourth annual Hunger Games!' I scan the crowd of children in front of me, trying to look at each face at least once. I'm barely past the eighteen year old pen when I hear my name being called out and I realise that the Mayor is expecting me to reply in some way to his acknowledgement. Anger suddenly rips through my body and I grind my teeth, refusing to look at him, refusing to play any part in this gruesome ceremony. A slight swell of noise comes from the crowd and I'm surprised to see some of the expressions of fear being replaced by ones of contempt.

'Show it like it is, Maya!' I hear a shout from the edge of the square but I can't see who's responsible for it. The crowd swells forward again.

'Enough!' Mayor Silverhorn's voice cracks like a whip across the seething mass of people and they fall silent. He hesitates for a few seconds but then obviously decides to continue as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

'And now, introducing your one and only escort; Aelia Tiara!' He turns away from the microphone, glaring at me as he returns to his seat. I ignore him and turn back to the simmering crowd.

'The time has come to select…' Aelia is having to shout into the microphone to be heard over the growing disruption in front of her. '…ladies first!' She positively bellows the final words into the microphone and the crowd falls silent again. They realise now, as I do, that the moment has come and that no amount of defiance will change the inevitable. Aelia doesn't bother to rummage. She simply grabs a piece of folded paper from near the top of the bowl.

'The female tribute from District Eleven is Rue Sirco.' A spike of pain lances through my chest. My ears faze out, eliminating the sound of the seething mass of people pressing against the stage. This is what Snow meant when he threatened to become creative. This is my fault.

* * *

Once again, sorry for the wait. I had the chapter pretty much written but then my memory stick became corrupted and I couldn't get the data back. So I had to start again which was hard. Please let me know what you think.


	5. Fallout

**WARNING contains mild self harm that may be triggering**

* * *

 **Fallou** **t**

There's a knock on my compartment door. I ignore it, staring at a shadow on the soft grey carpet. My eyes are burning with tears that refuse to come but the rest of my body is freezing cold and trembling. My chest is constricted by tight iron bands of panic a fear that make it hard to breathe. I don't remember how I came to be here. I don't remember the journey to the train station or getting on the train. I don't remember anything since I picked up those small squares of paper.

After Rue's name was called, the Peacekeepers were barely able to control the incensed crowd long enough for Aelia to select a second name. Mayor Silverhorn didn't even attempt to read the treaty of treason. The anthem blared out over the crowd and the two tributes were immediately marched into the Justice Building. The crowd surged forwards, pressing against the stage which immediately started to buckle under the pressure and one of the giant glass bowls fell over, shattering shards of crystal and small, tightly folded, pieces of paper. I don't know what made me do it but I reached down and picked up a handful. Every single one of them had the same name written on it.

 _Rue_ _Sirco_

'Maya?' There's a sliding sound as the door disappears into the wall. I don't look up as Seeder enters my sleeping area. 'Maya, look at me.' Seeder steps forward until she is standing directly beneath the light and the shadow disappears. Even so, I continue staring at the carpet, half wishing that I could sink into its feathery softness and vanish forever.

'Maya…?'

'Go away.' My voice cracks but I pretend not to notice.

'No,' Seeder answers simply. She crosses over to me and lifts my chin up so that I am forced to look at her. I see an echo of my own emotions on her face. I can't bear the sadness in her golden eyes.

'Please…?' I don't know what I am asking for; I don't even know who I am any more. If this was President Snow's way of breaking me then it has certainly worked. I am drowning in misery, anger and fear but at the same time I feel numb, as though I've been immersed in icy water.

'Maya, we need you in the dining area.' The pain in Seeder's voice is palpable.

'This is my fault.' My voice sounds forced and robotic.

'No…' I can see that she doesn't believe herself.

'I don't want to do it anymore,' I whisper, closing my eyes as the iron bands tighten around my chest. 'It's too hard. I thought I could do it but I can't. I can't be the person they want me to be.' My voice rises and my breathing starts to come in short, sharp gasps. My head spins. Losing consciousness would probably come as a relief so I don't even try to get myself under control.

'Breathe, Maya.' Seeder kneels on the carpet in front of me, holding my hands as I fight to get enough oxygen. I wonder if this is what it feels like to have a total and complete mental breakdown. I wonder if I care enough to stop myself from falling apart; maybe insanity would be easier than reality.

'If… if this is why I survived the Games then I wish that I'd died in that arena. I wish I was dead.'

'That's not true,' Seeder says sharply, squeezing my hands tightly.

'It hurts too much… the guilt. I can't live like this anymore.' Even as I say it, I know that I am being hideously selfish. My best friend has just been reaped; she's about to be thrown into the arena without even the protection of an older brother and yet I am unable to focus on anything past my own feelings.

'You can't fall apart Maya; Rue needs you to be strong for her.'

This is what I like about Seeder; she never sugar coats the truth and always says it straight out. And it always, without fail, makes me feel more in control.

'I… I don't know if I can.' Some of the conviction has gone from my voice because I can see that Seeder is right; this is no longer solely about me. I suppose, in a way, it never really was. This was always bigger than one person. But right now, I want nothing more than to walk away and end everything I started even if it means ending my life. I suppose this dark and wholly self-centred side of me was always hiding under the surface waiting for a change to rise up. It's surprising that it took so long to do so; nobody decent ever wins the Games.

'Maya this is not about you; it's about Rue.' It _is_ about Rue. _Rue_ _Sirco_. An image of my friend's name written over and over on the slips of paper in that giant glass bowl swims before my eyes. I think that I've probably done enough damage.

 _'_ Your friend needs you.'

'I… I'm not strong enough… I can't…' A look of sadness crosses Seeder's face and she leans backwards and gets to her feet.

'Come and find me when you've changed your mind, Maya.' She crosses the cabin and pulls open the door.

'Everything I touch gets corrupted. I've done enough damage.' My voice is barely above a whisper but Seeder stiffens and she turns back to me.

'Maya, remember there are people who love you.'

Left alone, I curl up on the bed and shut my eyes tightly. I want the gentle swaying motion of the train to lull me into sleep. Sleep would be a welcome relief. I know this is futile even before I try but my whole body feels leaden and it requires too much energy to move. Hours pass and although my eyes are squeezed tightly shut I sense the change in light in my cabin as darkness falls outside the train. At some point I become aware of the pressure in my bladder. I ignore it for as long as I can but when I am faced with the prospect of wetting myself and lying here in my own urine, I admit defeat and push myself to my feet.

After dealing with the issue, I stare at my reflection in the full length mirror; the girl who stares back at me is so familiar and yet so unfamiliar. A year has done very little to change my physical appearance and yet so much has happened. Anger suddenly rips through me and I punch the mirror as hard as I can. A star crack appears in the glass and distorting my reflection; now it's an accurate representation of how broken I feel. A thin line of blood from my knuckles creeps slowly down the broken glass, pooling against the white enamel of the sink. The rust and salt smell of the arena fills my nose and I fight to stop the memories overpowering me. Trembling, I stick my hands under the tap and turn the knob up to the hottest temperature. I wince at the scalding heat but I don't draw back. There's pain, yes, but there's also a sense of relief and I feel calmer because now I have a physical pain to focus on rather than trying to order my emotional pain.

This is crazy…

I snatch my hands out of the jet and clasp them to my chest, sobbing with pain and self-loathing as the skin starts to blister. This was stupid and it won't help anything in the long run. I swallow back the tears and turn the jet to cold before sticking my throbbing hands under it. The icy water seems to redouble the pain but I know that it'll be drawing some of the heat out of my burns. Ten minutes later I turn off the water and cross my cabin, cradling my aching hands against my chest. Then I step out into the shadowy corridor and walk slowly down the train to the tribute compartments.

* * *

'Rue?' I gently slide open the compartment door. I am horrified to see my best friend, my strong companion, lying flat on her bed, shaking with repressed sobs. 'Oh Rue…' I slide the door shut behind me and cross over to her, laying my hand on her trembling shoulder.

'I'm so sorry… I should've come earlier…'

'Y- you're here now…' Her voice is muffled by the pillow. I stroke her back gently, wincing as the movement sends a wave of pain through my stinging hands.

'This is all my fault. President Snow warned me that he'd find a way of punishing me. I never thought he'd take it out on you. I thought…' My voice peters out because what I'm trying to say is impossible to put into words; all those sleepless nights imagining what he would do to me or my family. I never once imagined that he would send Rue to the Games.

'You had to do it.' Rue rolls over suddenly and sits up, tears still rolling down her cheeks. 'You had to… and it's working. You saw the crowd at the reaping. It's starting… the uprising is starting.' Rue wipes her hands across her tearstained face.

'But… it's not worth it… I can't lose you too, Rue! I never meant for any of this to happen!' Once again I am horribly aware of just how hideously selfish I am being. But I can't help it; the tears that have refused to fall up until this point now flow in rivers down my face and I find myself gasping for breath as huge, irrepressible, sobs rise up inside my chest.

'I'll d- do everything I c- can to bring you home.'

'I know you will,' Rue says simply, hugging me so tightly that all the breath is squeezed from my lungs. Again, I am aware of how warped this situation is because I should be the one comforting Rue and not the other way around.

It's some time before we pull apart. Trembling, I reach into my pocket and pull out the good luck charm I took into the arena last year; the grass necklace with the wooden star charm hanging off it that Rue gave to me in the Justice building before Sheb and I were taken to the tribute train. Rue gives me a watery smile as she takes it from me.

'Maybe it'll work for you too…' I whisper, wondering if I really believe what I am saying.

The following morning we are woken by Aelia rapping smartly on Rue's compartment door. When she doesn't get a response, she slides it open. Her face falls momentarily when she sees us entwined together on the wide bunk but then she manages to hitch her fake smile on again and reminds us both that we have another 'big day' ahead of us. So saying, she pulls open the blind, letting in a stream of bright white light that seems to poke both of my eyes simultaneously. I groan and shield my face with my hands, wincing as the burns tighten with the movement. When my eyes have stopped watering, I look down at my hands and grimace; they are so thick with blisters that it looks as though I am wearing a pair of rather knobbly gloves.

'What did you do to your hands?' Rue gasps. I try to shrug it off but her gaze seems to penetrate to my very bones; I've never been very good at lying, especially to people who know me well. My face is too open and I can never hide what I truly feel.

'You need medicine, or they'll scar,' she tells me firmly when my mumbled excuses have finally come to an end. I shrug again; I honestly don't think I deserve any treatment for self-inflicted injuries.

A Capitol attendant, carrying a wide tray, piled high with crockery, meets us in the corridor and Rue immediately asks him where the first aid things are kept. Evidently my hands are more important than breakfast because he places the tray on a nearby table and I am immediately led away to a new compartment for first aid. He applies a thick salve that smells strongly of apricots, lemons and something antiseptic, and the pain seems to vanish and I tolerate the tight bandages that come next without so much as a whimper.

By the time I arrive Rue, Aelia, Chaff and Seeder are already sat in the dining carriage, tucking into a wide spread of delicacies. Aelia and Chaff seem to swallow my mumbled excuses but I sense that Seeder is less easily persuaded by the sharp looks I am getting. I make a mental note not to be alone with her if I can help it as I struggle silently with my knife and fork, before finally abandoning them and eating my chocolate croissant with my fingers. About halfway through the meal, the male tribute, a hulking seventeen year old called Thresh, saunters into the compartment. He avoids any attempt at conversation and merely picks up a basket of assorted pastries and a jug of hot chocolate and leaves the room again. For some reason, his attitude makes me smile because it reminds me so much of me last year. The comparison ends with his attitude because physically he is far more like Sheb.

Sheb… I swallow down the emotions that rise with the thought of my brother and glance down at my croissant, all desire for the flaky pastry and bitter chocolate having vanished. In fact, I'm starting to feel slightly nauseous and the train walls are pressing close. I want nothing more than to escape to my compartment before the panic can overcome me but at the same time I am loathe to leave Rue on her own again; so far I have done nothing whatsoever to help her. Ten minutes later, I know that I have to leave the room or go mad, and I stumble to my feet, stammering out an excuse. Aelia starts to protest at my manners but Seeder looks at me gravely.

'Let her go.'

'G-good luck with the stylists, Rue…'

My chest feels tight again; I need air. I want to get off this train but although we are pulling into a fuel stop, I know that the doors will remain sealed until we reach the Capitol to ensure that the tributes don't make a break for it. I toy briefly with the idea of going back to my compartment but my feet carry me past the door and down to the end of the train to the last carriage which is made entirely of reinforced glass and has small retractable windows that slide up into the ceiling. They don't open wide enough for even a person to escape but they do give the allusion of fresh air. As the train picks up speed once again, I stick my hands through one of the openings and let the cool breeze play over my wrists. Then I sink down onto one of the many plush sofas that surround the compartment and close my eyes, trying to imagine that I'm somewhere else… anywhere else…

I hear the hum and swish of the sliding door and squeeze my eyes tighter together, hoping that Seeder will think that I am asleep and leave me alone; I am not in the mood to answer questions or to make conversation of any sort.

'Maya?' My eyes fly open at the sound of his voice and I recoil automatically, because it isn't Seeder at all; Thresh, the male tribute, is standing in front of me, looking even more immense than ever now that he is so close to me. He is holding a half-eaten pain au chocolat in one hand; he must've seen me pass his compartment as he was eating and followed me.

'What?' I snap, trying to slow my thumping heart; I have never been particularly good with surprises and this has only gotten worse since the Games because I now seem to class everything as a threat. Thresh shuffles his weight from foot to foot, looking awkward at my less than friendly welcome and I vaguely wonder what he wants from me and why he can't just leave me alone. I then remember that I'm supposed to be a mentor, which means that I should try and be a little more approachable. I try to smooth out the irritated expression even though I know that he's already seen it.

'Sorry… you caught me…' My apology is cut short as he interrupts me.

'You were good. On the Victory Tour. What you said.' His directness and the honesty take me by surprise and I find myself at a loss for what to say in response; I've never been very good at accepting praise and right now I am so confused that I simply stare at him.

'You did the right thing.' He doesn't wait for a response; he simply turns and slouches back out of the carriage. The door slides shut with a hiss, leaving me alone once again.

 _'_ _You did the right thing.'_

My best friend is about has just been reaped and awaits almost certain death in the arena. I'm not sure that I believe him.

* * *

Once again, sorry for the wait - still suffering from writers block. Thank you for the lovely reviews and comments. Please keep them coming.


	6. Mentors and allies

**Mentors and allies**

'Maya? We have to go.' I look up, surprised to see Seeder standing at my elbow with a particularly well-groomed looking Chaff in tow. She casts an eye over my outfit and sighs. 'Is there any point in asking you to put something else on?' I'm still wearing the outfit I put on before the reaping. It's horribly creased and there are tearstains all down the front of the shirt.

'I thought the first stop is with the stylists?' I grouch, standing up too quickly and almost falling over; my left foot seems to have gone to sleep and I am forced to hop around on one leg for several seconds until it will support my weight gracefully. Pins and needles shoot up my leg and I wince. I feel drained, both physically and mentally, and the day hasn't even started yet.

'Yes but half the Capitol are standing on the platform and we have to walk past them to get to the car,' Seeder replies patiently. I don't try to hide my grimace because both Seeder and Chaff know how completely and utterly deplorable I find the Capitol citizens and also how I really don't care what they think of my choice of wardrobe.

 _But what if they decide you're too shabby to treat with?_ A niggling thought prickles at the back of my mind because if sponsors decide that they don't want to treat with me then Rue's chances of staying alive in the arena diminish to almost nothing. I've already let her down horribly and I can't give her yet another hurdle to climb over when she is already at such a disadvantage.

'Fine…'

I slouch back along the train until I reach my compartment where I grab the first item in the topmost drawer. Thirty seconds later I re-join Seeder and Chaff in the end carriage. Seeder looks at me with comic disapproval; the first thing I laid my hand on turned out to be a pair of pink satin pajamas. Sometimes it's hard to keep track of all the strange and ever-changing Capitol fashions, and they're sure to pass in my opinion… in fact, they might even start a new trend.

Seeder need not have worried; most of the people on the platform are distracted as the tribute train from District Twelve pulls in behind ours. I catch one glimpse of a skinny, dark-haired girl and a well-built blonde boy before I am whisked away to my prep team for the obligatory four hours of beautifying. By the time they have finished with me, my skin is stinging uncomfortably from the forcible hair removal and I've been forced into a miniskirt and jacket combo that shows far too much leg and non-existent cleavage for my liking.

I tug nervously at the hem of the skirt as Clio walks me down an exquisite wood panelled corridor underneath the training centre but the material is slippery and unyielding and it remains stubbornly at a level that barely conceals my crotch. It makes me feel exposed and uncomfortable and even more out of my depth.

'Leave it alone; you look beautiful.' I frown at the back of Clio's half-shaved head as I follow her into a gilt covered lift, noticing that the thin gold tattoos on the shaved part look even more intricate than before. Now that I'm looking carefully at it, I realise that her magnificent fluffed up hair on the other side of her head is also a darker shade of blue than I remember. Probably a bid to keep up with the fluctuating Capitol fashions.

'You look very mature.' I suppress a snort of disbelief because in my opinion I look like a little Capitol kid who is playing dress-up in her mother's clothes. Until now I've barely had room to criticise Clio's choice of outfit and I know that there must be a reason why she has dressed me like this although this thought doesn't make me feel any more comfortable. I just hope that her reasoning is sound and that I don't look as ridiculous as I imagine.

The lift opens out onto a carpeted hall that I've never seen before although I know that we are still somewhere in the tribute centre. I knew that this building was large but it must be bigger than I initially thought because there seems to be whole new wings that I am only just discovering.

'In there, Maya…' Clio indicates an ornately carved oak door directly across from the lift. I take a reluctant step towards it, unsure of what I'm walking into. 'You're a bit late; they're waiting for you.' She gives me a one armed hug and turns away, muttering something about leg hair and bushy eyebrows.

As soon as I push open the door, I know exactly where Clio has taken me and what I have walked into because I _have_ seen this room before and not just once but multiple times every year as the Hunger Games are broadcast; this is the room where sponsors sign away huge sums of money to keep their favourite tributes alive in the arena. The room is a part of what is called 'The Mentors' Suite', a series of rooms on the east wing of the tribute centre where the mentors fight to keep their tributes alive in the arena for as long as possible. This one has a huge, blank television screen mounted across one entire wall that seems to reflect the dim mood-lighting in the rest of the room in a breath-taking array of arks and swirls that remind me of the fireworks that I saw on the Victory Tour. Across the other wall, huge curtains are pulled across what I know is a large floor-to-ceiling window that commands views of the entire east side of the city and yet another is dedicated to an extensive buffet of elaborate finger-foods and a bar with every possible drink imaginable.

'Maya…' Seeder is at my elbow and for the first time I become aware of the turned heads, watching me from all around the room, heads that I recognise because each one belongs to another victor. I realise with a slight start of fear that I know the majority of them, if not my name then by sight and that there's something dangerous in the depths of every pair of eyes. Sweat prickles under my armpits and it clings clammily to my skin when the material of my ridiculous jacket does nothing to absorb it.

'Maya, come on…' I must've stopped moving in my surprise and I feel my face growing hot with embarrassment as I squirm under so many eyes; even a year of exposure on national television has done little to absolve my dislike of being the centre of attention.

'Now that we are all here…'

Mercifully the majority of the people watching me turn back to the giant screen which has flickered into life to show a picture of President Snow, glaring at me from the depths of the screen. Cold sweat starts to trickle down my back and sides under his snakelike gaze; he may be on video link from the presidential mansion but he can still see me and the picture is of such high calibre that it feels as though he is actually in the room with us, albeit as a giant version of himself.

'We are here to go over the rules of mentoring. Miss Stone, if you could please take a seat then we will begin.'

I finally manage to unfreeze my legs and I walk shakily after Seeder, finally making it to the plush armchair beside Chaff which they have obviously saved for me. I sink down into the back of the chair, until I can only see the top of President Snow's white head; it's about as much of him as I can stomach right now. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to block out the sound of his voice as he begins his speech. His tone is as carefully measured as always but there's a subtle hint of power and menace behind each sentence and I struggle to pay attention to anything else as he begins his speech with how honoured we should feel to be picked as a tribute mentor. The words now have a dull, learned by heart sound to them and I can tell from the fidgeting and whispers from the people around me that he must deliver the same speech every year.

Despite the fact that this is my first time mentoring and that I am probably the only person in the room who has never heard this speech before, I am also having a hard time concentrating on what President Snow is telling us. There's something about the timbre of his voice, his large, flickering picture on the screen above us, and the fact that his presence seems to fill the entire room without him even being here. It sets my heart racing and it's as much as I can do to keep myself breathing slowly and evenly to stop the panic from overcoming me. So I sit there with my eyes pressed shut and my fists clenched in my lap until the lights go up and the room fills with a relaxed chatter, indicating that the formal part of the meeting is over.

I open my eyes, glancing quickly over at the screen which has gone dark once again. It makes me feel safer, although I'm not deluding myself for one second that we are not live in President Snow's sitting room at this very moment. I glance around surreptitiously, pretending to look at the groups of mentors who are now moving towards the food and drinks, but really scanning the room for concealed recording equipment; the walls and furniture must be laced with the same hidden cameras and microphones that cover the arena. You know that they're there but they are almost impossible to see.

'Miss Maya Stone!' I jump with surprise and turn so sharply that I give myself a painful crick in the neck. The material of my ludicrous outfit sticks to the seat and back and of the chair and I realise that I've sweated through it. I wonder if the damp patches show and find my face heating up with embarrassment because it probably looks like I've had an accident or something.

Finnick Odair stands comfortably in front of me, looking gorgeous in a fitted suit of grey silk that somehow manages to show every muscle in his chiselled, athletic body and it leaves as little to the imagination as my stupid outfit.

'We meet at last…' He smiles, and I suddenly get the feeling that he knows exactly what I am thinking; this is a man who knows how attractive he is, with his perfectly bronzed skin and dark blonde hair.

'Good to see you, Finnick!' Seeder says warmly, standing up to greet him. Finnick Odair gives her a one-armed hug of greeting but his sea-green eyes don't leave me for a second.

'How are you holding up? Your first time mentoring and all…' His voice is a seductive purr but his eyes flick down to my bandaged hands and suddenly feel myself blushing even more heatedly. I summon a smile to my face and push myself to my feet, quickly hiding the bandages behind my back. I look quickly down at the seat and I'm relieved to see that the dark material doesn't reveal any tell-tale damp patches.

'Nervous, I suppose.' I attempt to sound as nonchalant as possible but my voice trembles slightly and the smile slides off my face again. I hope that Seeder and Finnick haven't noticed.

'You look absolutely ridiculous in that outfit, by the way.' A blunt voice comes from behind be and I turn to see Johanna Mason, the only living female victor from District Seven, standing behind me. Her short brown hair is gelled into hedgehog-like spikes and she doesn't even try to hide her obvious scorn. This is Johanna to a tee; simultaneously blunt and sharp, she always says her mind.

'Your stylist must be even more of an idiot than mine because that jacket was definitely meant for someone with _breasts_ …' Surprisingly, this comment makes me smile and I suddenly find myself relaxing slightly; I _know_ that I look ridiculous in this get-up. Somehow the fact that Johanna Mason is blaming Clio and not myself makes me feel better. After all, we are all in the hands of our stylists.

'Well that rules you out, Johanna,' Finnick remarks, dodging Johanna's swipe with a practiced ease. 'My pecs are easily larger than your breasts. In fact…'

The banter is interrupted by the arrival of Haymitch Abernethy, who is carrying a tray of tiny crystal glasses, all of which are filled with the same thick, viscous amber liquid. From the way that he is walking, or rather lurching, I'm actually somewhat surprised that they've made it thus far without ending up on the floor.

'Hello again, Maya.' His words are loud and slurred and I wonder how much alcohol he's already consumed today; by the look of his bloodshot eyes and his rosy cheeks it's probably quite a considerable amount. Haymitch hands everyone a glass, (Chaff gets two), thrusting mine at my chest so forcefully that I get splashed. Liquor dribbles stickily down my non-existent cleavage and everyone starts laughing again. I shudder at the stickiness but surprise myself by joining in with the laughter.

'To the Seventy Fourth Annual Hunger Games!' Finnick says, raising his glass. Everybody else follows suit, even Seeder, and sickness stirs in the pit of my stomach. What are these people doing, toasting the Hunger Games? Isn't it bad enough that we are forced to mentor the tributes to almost certain death without celebrating the fact? Acutely aware that I am the only one not participating, I slowly raise my own glass, the feeling of sickness intensifying as the smell of raw spirit catches in my nose.

'To the Seventy Fourth Annual Hunger Games!' Everyone intones. It's only then that I realise that the whole thing is in mockery. I suppose you either laugh about it or you cry.

* * *

'Those costumes were amazing. I wish Aquila thought of something like it...' Rue breathes a sigh of admiration. Since I became a victor, Clio and my prep team are still assigned to me and Aquila is the new District Eleven stylist. He's another one who has taken the strange Capitol fashions to extreme and he has had his head surgically altered into a strange semi-feline mask complete with patches of fur and long sinuous whiskers. I shudder slightly as I remember and turn back to my friend.

' _You_ were amazing.' I say firmly, but without substance; Rue's right, the tributes from District Twelve have literally outshone all competition. Their stylists came up with the novel and brilliant idea of lighting them up on the chariot with a kind of fake flame and it was totally mind blowing. I can still see their bright, flickering costumes in my mind's eye.

'They got most of the airtime.' Rue says in a slightly melancholy way, reaching for a pastry from the selection on the plate in front of her as if to console herself. 'All the Capitol people love her.' I don't have to ask who she means by 'her' because the small, wiry girl tribute from District Twelve has also captured my attention: Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire.

I watched a recap of the reapings and the tributes' arrival in the Capitol with Seeder whilst Rue and Thresh were still with their prep teams. We were supposed to be evaluating the other tributes and assessing the competition but in actual fact, I wasn't really paying much attention, rather trying to quash the unhelpful thoughts of the disadvantage that my best friend is starting out at. But even in my distracted state, I couldn't help but be drawn to the skinny, grey-eyed, sixteen year old from District Twelve who volunteered for her younger sister. She reminds me so strongly of myself last year that I can't help but feel a slight pull towards her. If there was anyone who would help Rue out in the arena then it's this girl.

'Maybe you should get to know her a little better?' The words are out of my mouth before I've fully registered what I'm saying.

'Why?'

I don't know why. Maybe it's because I can't bear to see my best friend enter the arena alone, and that out of all the tributes, I know instinctively that this girl is the only one who will help her. Maybe I automatically trust her because of how she volunteered to save her sister. Or maybe there's another reason that I can't put my thumb on. I don't know. All I know is that I _do_ trust her which seems slightly ridiculous when I know almost nothing about her.

'She was wearing a mockingjay pin when she arrived earlier.' I bite down on my tongue but the words have already escaped; out of all the reasons I could've come up with, this was probably the stupidest I could've said out loud so I'm rather surprised when Rue nods thoughtfully, as if she is seriously considering my suggestion.

'You could spend some time with her in training.' I suggest, wondering when I suddenly became so confident at my new role as Rue's mentor. Perhaps it's because I know that if Rue enters the arena alone then she has next to no chance of coming out again alive. In the same way that I wouldn't have survived without Sheb, Rue also cannot survive on her own.

* * *

Thank you for my reviews so far.


	7. A learning curve

**A learning curve**

It becomes apparent, about thirty minutes into the next day, that I am a rubbish mentor. I try my best to talk to the Capitol citizens, but my natural shyness, coupled with the embarrassing outfits that Clio is still insisting that I wear and the fact that many of the sponsors want to talk about last year leaves me a stammering, blushing wreck. Finally, when the session comes to an end, we retire to the mentors' suite where we are each given a thick booklet made out of plush sheets of glossy purple paper. Inside, there is room for us to make notes and also several pages of rules and a list of 'helpful mentoring advice'. It's all a little overwhelming and I wonder if I should carry the thing around with me and risk looking like the novice I am or whether I should try to learn it off by heart. Finnick, who is sat at a nearby table along with Johanna and an older guy who looks familiar but whose name I don't know, sees my expression and comes over to talk to me.

'Ignore those pages, Maya; I always do.' So saying, he rips the offending pages out of his own notebook and tosses them down onto the blue-velvet carpet. I suppress a smile as he crunches them underfoot.

'Didn't you receive a warning last year?' Johanna snaps, grabbing a fistful of stuffed-olives and pushing them all into her mouth at once. 'I don't know why you were even allowed to mentor this year; District Four has plenty of mentors to choose from.'

I glance over at Finnick's perfectly bronzed, chiselled body and his wavy blonde hair and sea-green eyes, knowing exactly why he was chosen. Not all victors are so pleasing on the eyes and Finnick is loved by everyone in the Capitol. There would probably be an uprising outside Snow's mansion if Finnick wasn't allowed to be a mentor. Finnick's annual return to the Capitol is one of the perks of the Hunger Games.

'Whatever Johanna,' Finnick waves an airy hand through the air before turning his attention back to me. 'You're the expert Maya; you're the one who has survived the arena last year. These Capitol people are clueless.' I suppress a snort that comes out sounding more like a sob; I don't feel like an expert. The fact that I survived the arena was almost entirely down to Sheb and had very little to do with my own skills or good judgement.

'You'll be fine, Maya,' Finnick continues, grabbing the olives off of Johanna, once again dodging her swipe with expertise. 'Anyway, you have Chaff and Seeder to help and they've been doing it for years. They know what they're doing.'

'But never managed to bring anyone home until me...' I add, under my breath, as Finnick saunters off, flicking Johanna's ponytail on his way past and earning himself a slap in return.

Although it's nice to be reminded that I am not alone, his words also make me feel slightly uncomfortable because I feel like a fake. I'm an imposter who has only just realised how completely out of her depth she is and is still trying desperately to keep her head above water. I'm terrified that any mistake on my part, whether down to my lack of proficiency, bad judgement, or any other reason, will be devastating for my best friend.

At dinner I am silent as we listen to Rue's account of the day and I push my food around my plate, trying to make it look as though I've eaten more than I have. Although both Seeder and Aelia try to bring me into the conversation, they have about as much success as they do with Thresh, who is still monosyllabic and surly. It isn't until dinner is over and everyone leaves the table and migrates towards their own quarters that I manage to grab a moment alone with Rue. She tells me every detail of her day and I make timid suggestions about what she should try to learn in training and what her strategy at the upcoming assessments should be. At one point, we even discuss the arena, but this topic is hard for both of us and after a few stilted sentences we move on to easier subjects.

Once again, sleep is impossible, so I spend the night making lists of all the people that I talked to today who were considering sponsoring the District Eleven tributes. Although I know that the majority of them are talking about Thresh, I try to convince myself otherwise as I scribble down their names in my notebook. Perhaps they won't notice if I use their money to help out Rue because I'm pretty sure that Thresh will manage just fine on his own. It's probably vetoed in the list of rules at the back of the notebook but I haven't bothered to read them and I can pretend that I made a genuine mistake.

On the morning of the third day, I creep into Rue's bedroom before the sun is fully up. I'm surprised to find her already awake, almost as if she's waiting for me. I thought that I was the only one who was suffering from nightly insomnia and I'm suddenly worried that she will be tired before she even gets to the arena.

'I was wondering when you were going to show up.' Rue gives me a tight smile and takes a sip from the mug cradled in her hands. 'You look like you haven't slept at all.' I grimace, wondering whether she saw or heard me pacing around the apartment hour after hour, trying to tire myself out both physically and mentally.

'Pot and kettle.' I mutter, sinking down beside her and tucking my legs up underneath me. The scent of chocolate reaches my nose and my stomach rumbles loudly in anticipation of breakfast, surprising us both. Rue giggles and presses a sequence of numbers into a keypad set into the desk beside her. Ten seconds later, my own mug appears through a small hatch beside the bed.

'Has anyone spoken to you about the individual assessments?' I ask, taking a sip of my drink. The warm, creamy liquid slides down my throat, clearing the sleep-deprived fogginess like magic. My stomach gurgles, accepting the offering without much enthusiasm; I've been suffering from indigestion for the past few days. It's probably down to lack of sleep or the over rich food or something. I place the mug gently on the cabinet beside me and turn back to Rue as she starts to speak.

'Seeder suggested that I show them some tricks on the gym and then maybe some rope techniques or something.'

'Has Chaff said anything?' Rue shakes her head and I purse my lips; there's something different about Chaff this year. He always drank a lot but so far he has spent the majority of the last two days in a drunken stupor, leaving Seeder and me to pick up the slack. Even when he shows up, his usual jovial character seems stilted and slightly subdued.

'Last year he helped me make an impression on the Gamemakers.' I grimace at the memory. 'I know that Sheb helped me as well but…' My voice cracks slightly and I swallow and look away until my face is neutral again. Then I proceed to give Rue the same advice that Chaff gave to me last year.

'…you have to make an impression.' I finish, a note of desperation creeping into my voice. I pick up the mug for a second time and take a sip of the now cold liquid. Once again my stomach growls in protest.

'Make it real.' Rue whispers, staring hard at me, her dark eyes like huge, sunken pools in the half light. I take a deep, shuddering breath, hating the thought of my friend being attacked, even in a staged situation, and hating myself for what I'm about to say next.

'Pretend it's the arena.'

* * *

After dinner that evening we all group around the floor to ceiling television in the hexagonal sitting room. I've avoided company since I arrived in the Capitol which means that this is the first time that I've entered this room since the victory tour so I'm slightly surprised to see that the walls and ceiling are now a deep blue colour. When the lights go down, small star-like white lights flicker into being all around us, giving the illusion of the night sky. I suppose that it's meant to be pretty but in my opinion it makes the room slightly claustrophobic; I feel as though the walls are pressing closer and closer and I have to remind myself to keep breathing slowly and evenly. I'm relieved when the television screen flickers into life and the anthem reverberates around us because it gives me something else to focus on.

The results are pretty much identical to last year's with the Career tributes scoring highly and the rest of the Districts averaging around a five. I'm not at all surprised when Thresh comes up with a ten; he shrugged and grunted in reply to Seeder's questioning at dinner, refusing to say what had happened during his individual assessment but he's so powerful that he probably showed the Gamemakers something amazing. I glance over at him in the darkness and suppress a smile as Aelia and the stylists start to offer congratulations; he's chewing on a fingernail without acknowledging any of their comments.

His picture flashes one more time as the commentator gives his congratulations and then it disappears and Rue's picture appears in the centre of the screen. She looks so young and so vulnerable and my stomach drops slightly and I suck in a deep breath to try and calm my rising emotions; it's getting closer and closer and more and more real. Soon I will have to say goodbye to her, possibly for ever. The air leaves my lungs in a rush of pure, undiluted, relief as they reveal her score underneath her picture; a number seven. For the first time in days I find myself smiling and I give her a one armed hug before focusing back on the screen where Rue's picture has now been replaced by the stocky blonde boy from District Twelve.

'That's fantastic, Rue,' Aelia gushes, as a number eight appears on the screen under the blonde boy's picture. 'People are going to be falling over themselves to sponsor the two of you. It's going to be amazing.' I hear Thresh snort loudly and find myself smiling again, partly at his attitude and partly because, as much as I hate to admit it, Aelia is right; perhaps some Capitol citizens will now decide to sponsor Rue, and this will increase her odds of staying alive in the arena dramatically.

A headshot of the skinny, grey-eyed girl from District Twelve is the last picture to flash up on the screen and once again I find myself drawn to her, because there's something mysterious in the depths of her grey eyes; this is a girl who has already known sadness and has fought through it and come out stronger. I wonder if Rue's timid attempts to get to know her during training have worked or not.

'Wow… incredible…' For once, Aelia's words sum up exactly what the rest of us are thinking, because underneath this final picture they are flashing a number eleven, the highest score so far. The only person who has ever received an eleven was Finnick Odair, nine years ago. I was four at the time so I don't really remember much about his Games. The only reason that I remember his training score was because he reminded me of it today during our conversation.

'I wonder what she showed the Gamemakers.' I surprise myself, and everyone else, by saying this out loud; so far I've barely contributed to group discussions. Thresh and I are two of a pair; both of us surly and monosyllabic. Since our arrival in the Capitol, the only person I've spoken to voluntarily is Rue.

'Apparently she lost her temper during the assessment.' I jump slightly and swing round, surprised to see Chaff standing behind me because he wasn't here at the start of the scoring and I didn't hear him enter the room whilst the scores were announced. I assumed that he was drinking with some of the other mentors again, where he's been for the past three days

'Well that's one way of getting the Gamemakers' attention.' Seeder says, sighing a little. There's slight edge to her voice but I can't read her expression in the dark and by the time the lights go up, her face is smooth once more.

'We should have some chocolate covered strawberries!' Aelia says loudly, clapping her hands together in anticipation and bustling to her feet. 'We have something to celebrate!' Once again I hear Thresh suppress a snort as he gets swiftly to his feet and slouches out of the room, without a backward glance at the rest of us.

* * *

Again I find myself unable to sleep and after an hour of tossing and turning, I finally give in and get out of bed. I cross over to the door and pull it open, almost running out of my set of rooms, because the walls are pressing close and I need air and, despite my best efforts, none of the windows will open. Instead, I push open one of the wide floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining area and sink down on the plush carpet, breathing deeply. The air tastes odd; there's an aftertaste of chemicals and exhaust fumes that we don't get at home but at least it's fresh and cool on my hot skin. A full moon sits among the clouds, casting a faint, pale light that gets swallowed up by the light pollution of the city. Perhaps it's my profound exhaustion, or maybe the fact that I'm always close to tears these days, but it makes me want to cry. I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on breathing slowly and evenly and nothing else.

'Maya…' I jump horribly and scramble to my feet, swinging round to face the intruder, my heart skipping in anticipation, my breath catching on a sob as it leaves my lungs. 'Calm down; it's only me.' Chaff is sitting in a shadowy corner of the room. He gets unsteadily to his feet and staggers over to me. His breath reeks of raw spirits and sour alcohol and my stomach contracts slightly.

'I… I didn't think anyone was up.' I say breathlessly; my heart is still racing. My skin feels prickly and uncomfortable and I suddenly wonder how much longer I'm going to be able to hold it together.

'Couldn't… sleep…' Chaff hiccups slightly and I get another blast of his smelly breath.

'What's wrong Chaff?' I surprise myself by the directness of my question. 'You seem…' I hesitate, scrabbling around for the right word. '…off. What's the matter?' Chaff looks me up and down as though assessing how much to tell me. Then he sighs loudly.

'It's Mags; she's had a stroke. That's why she's not mentoring this year.'

Mags… an image of an elderly woman swims to the front of my mind. She is usually a mentor for District Four along with Finnick Odair and a couple of others but I haven't seen her around this year. Career Districts always have a lot of victors to choose from so I just assumed that it was someone else's turn but obviously I was wrong. The silence stretches awkwardly, whilst I think of something to say in response because I've never been particularly good at making small talk and it's especially difficult when my brain is foggy with sleep deprivation. In a way, it probably doesn't matter what I say, because from the state that Chaff is in, I doubt very much that he will remember any of this conversation tomorrow.

'I'm sorry, Chaff. Were you close?' The question comes out sounding stilted and awkward; I'm also not very good at showing sympathy to others. Even when I'm genuinely touched, it comes out sounding wrong. Chaff nods and staggers over to the drinks cabinet and helps himself to a crystal decanter of something brown and viscous. He prises off the stopper with his teeth and spits it out onto the carpet, before taking a large swig. Liquor runs down his chin and soaks into the front of his shirt but he doesn't seem to notice.

'Will she be okay?' I try to think about what I know about Mags; she always seems to know what to buy with the sponsor money, however obscure the situation. I suppose that over sixty years of mentoring must give you an edge. Perhaps I'll be similarly good if I'm still around in sixty years' time. My stomach lurches at the thought, because I can't imagine anything worse than being a mentor for the rest of my life.

'I… don't know… early… days…' Chaff says, his words interspersed with more hiccups. 'It only… happened… week… ago…' He takes another large mouthful of alcohol but sways suddenly and slides down the wall, landing with a thump on the thick carpet. The contents of the decanter slosh up and I jump backwards out of range as a sticky brown wave explodes out of the top of the bottle.

'Lovely lady... almost…' The end of the sentence comes out as a jumbled mess and Chaff's head falls forward onto his chest and he starts snoring loudly. The decanter falls sideways, the remaining liquid glugging out and soaking into the thick pile of the carpet. Slightly revolted, I take a step forwards, wondering what I should do; if I leave him then he might choke on his own vomit or something and although there are times when he irritates me, I'd be lying to myself if I said that I didn't care about him. I shake his shoulder gently and then more violently but he is dead to the world and in the end I am forced to call a couple of Capitol attendants to help me get him back to his room.

* * *

'You look lovely.' My voice sounds flat and expressionless and Rue raises an eyebrow.

'What's the matter?' I grimace because our roles have been reversed yet again; I should be the one supporting Rue and not the other way round.

'Nothing; I'm fine. You look amazing.' This time I'm slightly more successful at interjecting some life into my voice. It's true; she does look amazing although it's clear where Aquila got his inspiration from because her outfit is very similar to the one that I wore last year. Nevertheless it's effective and it makes Rue appear magical and ethereal.

'You didn't sleep again, did you?' Rue says, not fooled for a second. I sigh and shake my head.

'My head won't shut up.' I say, slightly pathetically, tugging down on my skirt unsuccessfully. Once again Clio has dressed me in a ridiculously revealing outfit that barely covers my bottom and leaves the majority of my stomach free for the entire world to see. I feel horribly exposed and vulnerable.

'You could try the sleeping tablets again.' Seeder's voice comes from the open doorway and when I look round I see that her stylist has dressed her in a gorgeous dress of flowing golden velvet that matches her eyes so exactly that I know it can't be a mistake.

'Last time I took one of them, my brain felt like mush for hours.' I protest, slipping my feet back into the ridiculous high heels that accompany my outfit and tottering over to the doorway. Outside I can see a well-groomed Chaff and a bored-looking Thresh.

'As opposed to being like a mush because you haven't slept properly for days.' Rue says softly in my ear, as we swoop downwards in the glass elevator. I ignore her, pretending that I haven't heard, although secretly I know that she's probably right; at some point I am going to have to give in and take the stupid things because I am going to be no good to anyone if I'm like a zombie from lack of sleep. I grimace as I remember telling my brother the same thing in the arena last year.

I give Rue a hug and before we part company back stage. I tell her to take a deep breath and to just be herself. She smiles shakily at me but doesn't reply. I remember how nervous I felt last year and feel a rush of empathy for my best friend. I give her one more hug before following Seeder, Aelia and the prep-teams out of the wings to our designated viewing area. I look up as I pass Thresh, feeling slightly guilty because I don't know whether or not I should be offering him any words of encouragement too. I think back to yesterday when Seeder and I were trying to work out a strategy for him. Neither of us could get him to cooperate at all; he just sat there, surly and uncommunicative until we finally let him go back to his room. He raises an eyebrow when he sees me looking at him and heat suddenly rushes to my face and I have to hurry past, blushing furiously. I suppose that, in a way, it doesn't matter what happens during his interview; Thresh has already proved himself to be a strong competitor and judging by the amount of sponsors that have been queuing up to speak to me over the last few days, he's going to be okay.

I follow the rest of the team to a designated viewing area, set aside for mentors and prep-teams. It's already very crowded and I find myself unable to see past a solid wall of other people's backs. Occasionally I get a glimpse of the crowded City Circle and the brightly lit stage as people shuffle around to make room for the circling Capitol slaves, each baring a tray of drinks or canapés. Being in the back suits me just fine for the moment and I slump in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous. This lasts about thirty seconds, until I am spotted by Finnick, who pulls me closer to the front and hands me a tall champagne glass full of something pink and fizzy. Thinking that it's some sort of soft drink, I take a large gulp and choke as the alcohol catches in my throat. When my eyes have stopped watering, I take a sneaky look over at Finnick, hoping that the noise around us covered up the sound of my coughing but he is laughing at me and once again I find myself blushing in embarrassment.

'Maybe you should try the juice,' Johanna says sarcastically from behind me. When I turn, I'm unsurprised to see that she's made absolutely no effort at all to look good; she's wearing the same outfit as she had on two days ago at the last mentors' meeting. Somehow, the fact that she's even more rebellious and intolerant than I am makes me feel slightly better. It's almost as if I have a partner in crime.

'Here you are, Maya.' Seeder replaces the alcoholic drink with a tall glass of bright purple-red liquid. I take an experimental sip and the taste of blackberry and apple hits my tongue, reminding me of the autumn harvest at home.

'Maybe your taste buds will be more sophisticated next year.' Johanna says patronisingly, downing her own drink and immediately reaching for another.

'I doubt it…' My words are cut off as the anthem blares out around us and Caesar Flickerman takes the stage and we all turn as one as he opens the ceremony.

* * *

As always, please let me know what you think.


	8. A long night

**A long night**

'That was very good Rue.' I look up at Seeder's words and give a half-hearted nod of agreement. Rue's tremulous answer to Caesar Flickerman's final question is still spinning around my head and my brain is refusing to concentrate on anything else at the moment.

 _'I'm very hard to catch and if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out.'_

 _Don't count me out… don't count me out… don't count me out…_ I shudder as the words reverberate around me head, bouncing repeatedly off the inside of my skull. Their intensity causes a slight pain to build between my eyes and I rub my forehead with the palm of my hand, wondering how quickly I'll be able to leave the dinner table without appearing rude. Not that I really care if I appear rude; Aelia Tiara and the other Capitol citizens already consider my manners to be at rock bottom.

'She was a little star,' Aelia says emphatically, sweeping us all ahead of her into the dining room where a table laden with food awaits us. The smell of chicken roasted in thyme and sage reaches my nose and my stomach growls in anticipation as my mouth floods with saliva. I am surprised to find myself hungry for what seems like the first time in days. I pile my plate with meat, salad and crusty white bread and start to eat, barely registering the continued discussion, which has now turned to the other tribute interviews.

'The girl from District Twelve was good,' Aquila, Rue's leonine stylist says quietly. It's the first time that I've heard him speak and I'm so surprised by the light tenor of his voice that I almost choke on my mouthful of bread; I was expecting a growl or a throaty purr. I find myself paying more attention now that the conversation has turned to Katniss Everdeen. The girl who's progress I've followed throughout the pre-Game charades with an almost obsessive amount of interest.

'The boy made her look good. It wasn't like she was anything special. Her stylist helped too.' We all turn to Thresh as his voice cuts out across the babble of agreement that follows Aquila's comment. To be honest, I think that we're all equally surprised that he has voluntarily spoken in front of a room full of people. As if he can read our thoughts and is offended by them, he stands and leaves the room, relieving one of the silent Capitol Avoxes of the entire roast chicken as he passes her on his way through the door. I vaguely wonder if he intends to eat the whole thing. I wouldn't be surprised; it probably takes a lot of commitment and tenacity to maintain that amount of muscle.

'Her dress was amazing again.' Rue says, digging into her plate of food with gusto.

She's right; once again the District Twelve stylist has wiped the slate with the rest of the pack. Even so, Thresh is accurate about one thing: Even with the sparkly dress, Katniss Everdeen did not make a great impression on the audience until Peeta Mellark announced to the nation that he loved her. Now everyone in the Capitol is head over heels obsessed with her and I can imagine the excitement the declaration has instigated among the sponsors; they're probably falling over themselves to sponsor her. I roll my eyes and go back to my food because I'd be prepared to bet most of what I own that Katniss Everdeen had no idea what Peeta Mellark was going to say to the audience. I don't know how I'm so sure but she doesn't seem to be the scheming type and when the cameras found her face after his very public announcement, she wasn't quite able to mask her expression of confusion and protest.

'What happens tomorrow morning?' Rue asks, her voice clearly striving for nonchalance. She's still attacking her dinner with more enthusiasm than I can ever remember showing for any type of food, even this delectable Capitol stuff. I look over to her but her face is carefully blank and I can't read her expression. I wonder if she's really hungry or whether she's just eating to fuel herself for tomorrow. Tomorrow… abruptly my own appetite is gone and I push my plate away from me across the smooth mahogany table top. The china squeals against polished wood and everyone looks up at me and I feel my cheeks flushing. I wonder if I'll ever be comfortable in the spotlight or whether I will always be self-conscious and awkward. Probably the latter…

'We… we should discuss strategies for tomorrow.' I say quickly, to cover my embarrassment.

Chaff snorts explosively, startling Aelia, who knocks over the butter dish onto her silk cocktail dress. She hurries off to one of the enormous styling bathrooms to mend the damage, muttering obscenities under her breath. I turn to Chaff, about to demand what his problem is, when I realise that everyone else is nodding in agreement to my comment, and anyway, I can't really be bothered starting an argument, especially considering that Chaff is already on his fifth glass of wine.

'You need to get out of there as fast as you can.' Seeder says, her voice low but somehow managing to convey the importance of her words. 'It's a bloodbath; they're trying to draw you in. Get out of there, Rue… find fresh water and hide. Stay out of everyone's way.'

'But what if the arena is like last year?' The words have already left my mouth before my brain has time to register them. I wonder whether I am being automatically perverse or whether I actually want my opinion to be considered. On one hand, the thought of Rue hanging around in the danger zone by the Cornucopia, just to pick up a rucksack or sleeping bag is alarming. But on the other, I know that neither Sheb nor I would've lasted very long in the freezing temperatures of last years' arena without our sleeping bags.

'What do you mean?' About three people demand simultaneously.

I blush again, and look down at my plate, poking the remaining food on my plate with my cutlery, trying and failing to order these conflicting thoughts. Then I look up and speak only to Rue, attempting to block out the fact that the table is full of stylists and prep teams who are all hanging onto my every word; Capitol citizens never tire of hearing personal accounts about the arena.

'Last year, everyone gave me the same advice. Sheb was going to go in for supplies and I was supposed to run. I didn't want him to but he insisted.' My throat closes at the mention of my brother and I am forced to take a gulp of water before I can continue. 'But you're on your own and if the arena is as cold as it was last year then you're going to need some extra protection. I don't think we would've lasted the first night without those sleeping bags.' I look back at my half eaten plate of food as the memory assaults me; the close pressing darkness and the intense bone-deep cold… the swinging rhododendron branches… the faces staring down at me, projected on a screen from the sky above…

Anger suddenly thrills through my veins, its burning intensity catching me by surprise and my heart flutters in my chest like a trapped bird. I shudder and push my chair back, acutely aware that every person at the table is now looking at me. I need to get out of here before I start crying or shouting. Either would be equally unbearable for Rue tonight; something is building inside me and if I can't be strong for her and fight it then I need to be alone before it hits.

'I think that you should play it by ear. You're smart and you're fast… trust your decisions.' The words sound forced but I don't care; I'm already halfway out of the room.

When I finally reach the solitary confines of my bedroom, I throw myself face down on the soft counterpane, burying my face among the countless heart shape pillows that adorn the head of the bed. I wait for the tears but the anger and emotion seem to have left me almost as quickly as they arrived and when I am still dry eyed over an hour later, I roll over and stare up at the ceiling, trying to memorize the intricate swirly patterns in the plaster and paint to take my mind off everything else. I feel numb, and slightly removed from the situation. The feeling is probably caused by the foggy, sleep-deprived, state of my brain. Either that or I am already becoming immune to the pain of being a mentor.

As a mentor you have to become resistant. Every year you prepare another two children for the Hunger Games, and every year, almost without fail, you watch them die horribly in the arena. I imagine that you must lose a piece of yourself every time it happens. I envisage myself in ten years' time with a soul so empty, so papery thin that a slight gust of wind could rip it to sheds. Maybe it's at that point when you turn to alcohol or to morphling, the point when you can no longer cope without something to dull the pain.

It's some time later when I finally sit up, run my fingers through my hair and swing my legs over the side of the bed. As I start towards the bathroom, I realise that my ridiculous skirt has ridden up over my bottom and is now circling somewhere between my neck and midriff. I snort and yank it off over my head, throwing it to the floor where it is quickly joined by the stupid top that leaves so little to the imagination. I briefly consider disposing of the revolving outfit down the trash shoot but I can anticipate the argument that this would cause and I don't really have the energy for it. Instead, I kick it under the bed, hoping that nobody will notice it there and pick it up because I might be forced to wear it again at some point.

Naked, I walk over to the bathroom where I wash what remains of the make-up and scent off my body. I un-braid my hair and then I program the wardrobe to give me a pair of soft flannel pajamas that seem to hug my body, making me feel calmer and more together than I've felt in days. Bare-foot I pad over to the door and out into the silent apartment beyond; I need to see my friend. I need to say goodbye…

The apartment is sunk in half-light; deep purple shadows surround me, pooling in the corners and under the elaborate furnishings. I shiver automatically, slightly unnerved by the darkness and the silence. I never used to be afraid of the dark but ever since the arena a switch seems to have been flicked inside me. I don't notice the figure standing by the windows until she moves.

'Rue?' I ask tentatively, crossing over to her. She doesn't reply but I know from the timbre of her breathing that it is her. Her face is sunk in shadow and the perpetual light from the bright City Circle below does little to illuminate her expression.

'Are… are you okay?' Stupid question Maya, very stupid question… of course she's not okay. Even now, a year later, I can't even bear to think back to the way that I felt this time last year. That endless last night before the arena when sleep just wouldn't come; there's something so unbearable about that ticking clock, counting down the hours until you enter the arena. It's almost as bad as actually being in the arena. Almost…

I pull myself back to the present because, once again, I am being so unbearably self-centred, and focusing solely on my own feelings. I can only imagine how terrible Rue must be feeling; I had Sheb by my side in the arena but she's on her own, completely on her own...

'I'm so sorry…' my apology is meaningless; it's something to say to fill the silence that permeates the air around us. We both know that it doesn't matter; the Games are still going to go ahead and Rue is still going to be lifted up into that arena in a matter of a few hours. Would I take her place if I could? As much as I hate myself for it, I honestly don't know if I could bring myself to volunteer again, even for my best friend.

As if I'd even have the option...

'It's… it's not your fault... even if this is Snow's way of... of getting his revenge, you had to do it. You had to tell the world the truth.' Tears fill my eyes at Rue's words and I turn away from her and wipe furiously at my face because I don't want to make this any harder than it already is and she's being so composed and so mature. She's always been the stronger out of the two of us.

I'm acutely aware that this might be the last conversation that I have with my best friend but I can't seem to think of anything to say so I simply close the small distance between us and wrap my arm around her. Together we stand in silence, looking out through the thick glass of the window into the brightly lit city beyond. Finally we hug for what feels like a long time and then Rue goes back into her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Somehow, deep down, I know that this is probably the last time that I will see her alive.

'I love you…' I whisper the words into the darkness, knowing that she can't hear me but also sure that she already knows it anyway. I stare at the ornately carved mahogany for several long minutes before slowly sinking down onto one of the chaise longues behind me. I close my eyes and take several long, steadying breaths, concentrating solely on breathing slowly and evenly.

The next time I open them, the room is full of pale dawn sunlight and I know without checking that Rue and Thresh have already left. Numb and disorientated, I wonder into the dining room. It's too early for breakfast but there's always a constant supply of food here and I help myself to a freshly baked brioche bun from a basket on the counter and split it open with trembling fingers. The scent warm buttery dough helps to ground me as I cross over to the window and look down towards the City Circle. People have already started to gather, getting there early to grab the best places where they will have an unobstructed view of the big screens broadcasting the start of the Games and the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

I turn away in disgust, hating every single rotten one of them with such intensity that it has me reeling backwards. To calm myself I take a small bite of my bun, shuddering slightly as the taste of it floods my mouth. Suddenly I am starving; I have barely eaten for the past week, the nerves and the accompanying upset stomach have sapped me of my usual appetite.

'No no…' I jump horribly, dropping my brioche roll in my alarm. I swing round to see Aelia and Clio standing in the doorway, along with Seeder and Chaff's two stylists, whose names I have never bothered to learn.

'You mustn't fill yourself up now…' I stare at them, completely nonplussed as to why they are all there.

'We have breakfast with the sponsors in…' (Aelia consults her watch, an enormous metallic affair that sits on a chain around her waist). '…exactly twenty five minutes which gives us just enough time to get you washed and dressed.' I scowl, wondering why she still feels the need to address me like a five year old.

'Come on…' I groan as I see the outfit that hangs over Clio's arm; a neon pink skin-tight lycra jumpsuit.

'I'm not wearing that.' Both Chaff and Seeder's stylists gasp at my tone and Aelia swats at me with her silver plated handbag. It's the first time that I've ever put my foot down.

'Do not argue with your stylist, Maya.'

'I said that I'm not wearing that,' I repeat. My voice is toneless and flat. 'I've had enough of your outfits, Clio. I want a new stylist. One that doesn't make me look like a Capitol prostitute.' This statement draws out another round of gasping admonishments from the adults. I'm surprised that the hurt look on Clio's face does not make me feel the slightest bit guilty; I still feel dead, almost as though my feelings have been anaesthetized. I just don't _care_ …

'I used to love your outfit choices, Clio. All of my dresses for the victory tour were gorgeous but now…' I shake my head, my eyes skimming over the neon travesty that hangs limply in her arms. '…everything that you've put me in since I returned to the Capitol has been horrific. I can't pretend anymore. I…' My voice trails off.

'Maya…' I'm surprised that my harsh words have drawn tears to Clio's sea green eyes. 'I'm sorry. I wanted you to look mature. I wanted the sponsors to be able to distinguish you from the tributes. You still look so young and…' Tears are now flowing freely down her lightly rouged cheeks and I suddenly feel a slight twinge of shame.

'Look,' I make my voice as gentle as possible, 'I don't want to replace you Clio; I know how fantastic you are. But please can we just go back to… to some more normal clothes.'

When she nods and wipes at her eyes with a silk handkerchief I feel a sense of relief, accompanied by a stronger wave of remorse; when did I become so cruel and heartless? I never thought that I'd be capable of making someone over twice my age cry. But maybe this shouldn't come as a surprise to me. After all, it's a common fact that nobody decent ever wins the Games.

* * *

Sorry for the long wait; PhD is manic. Happy Christmas and New Year.


	9. Let the Games begin

**Let the Games begin**

Breakfast with the sponsors. In truth I think that I'd rather be anywhere else, but seeing as Chaff was too hung over to make an appearance, I know that my presence is essential and, anyway, I need to be here to do the best that I can for Rue. As hopeless as I feel over my situation, over _her_ situation, I will do my uttermost to help her in the arena even though I know deep down that she has very little chance of coming out of it alive.

After my harsh words this morning, Clio has dressed me in a soft, knee-length dress made of crushed-velvet, the colour of sunlight on snow. It's accompanied by gossamer thin tights that make my legs appear silky and smooth and shoes of supple white leather. I am beyond relieved to be dressed decently once again although it has done little to make me any more confident or comfortable with the sponsors; I'm still stiff, awkward and probably completely useless.

As usual, the food is exquisite and the sponsors, who are currently circling around each District booth with full plates, are making the most of it. We mentors are here for a rather different reason and although I've been tucking in to the selection of pastries that sit in the centre of our circular table in between appointments, I haven't had much time to explore the other options that are laid out on large oblong tables around the edges of the room.

The room has been transformed; each District now has a large booth-like space, enclosed on three sides by thick wooden partitions that rise from the plush velvety carpet all the way up to the intricately carved plaster ceiling. They are somehow successful in blocking out any noises from the next door booths although I can still hear the people who are wandering up and down in the main part of the room. This gives an element of privacy so that we can discuss the gifts and money spent by the rich Capitol sponsors without our fellow mentors overhearing and potentially copying us. I can't help but feel that the whole setup is slightly pointless because the Gamemakers staunchly emphasize the generosity of the Capitol citizens by broadcasting the tributes opening their parachutes in the arena. It is always shown, regardless of what else is happening to the other tributes in the arena at that moment. For example, a few years ago, they cut across to an insignificant tribute opening her parcel of bread and meat in some remote corner of the arena, in spite of the three Career tributes engaged in a bloody fight by the Cornucopia.

Behind me are two large headshots of Rue and Thresh, probably to remind the sponsors who they're talking about because it must be hard for them to keep track of twenty four new children every year. I've had to position my chair with my back to this wall because otherwise I keep looking at the picture of Rue and not at the people who've come to talk to us. Seeder's already had to admonish me twice although I know from her tone of voice that she's not really displeased with me and is only doing it for the benefit of the sponsors. There are also two, small-by-Capitol-standards, television screens, mounted seamlessly into the temporary wooden wall. Each is currently showing a swirling rainbow screen-saver. It's slightly mesmeric and although I'm trying not to look at it, I can't help seeing it out of the corner of my eye, another thing that is sapping my attention levels and making me appear rude. Considering that I have an unobstructed view of the large screen mounted across the far wall, having our own private ones seems like another slightly useless gesture. But maybe it will show something different to the televised Games broadcast to the rest of Panem. Perhaps we get to see continuous shots of our tributes so we can help them through any situation whereas the big screen will probably only show the dramatic highlights that are broadcast to the general public. I guess I'll find out in a few hours.

So far this morning, we've had a steady stream of sponsors, all signing over what seem to be extortionate amounts of money although I'm starting to realise that the amounts mean next to nothing to these people who have so much. Just like the couple who sit in front of me now, they are all interested in Thresh and although I keep reminding them of Rue's seven in training, so far nobody has signed across a single penny to help her. The whole situation is making me feel more and more panicky and out of control and I'm finding it hard to stop my anger from over spilling because how can these people be so completely and utterly heartless? How can they watch a twelve year old fend for herself in the arena and not lift a finger to help when they clearly have the means? I tried to sign across some of my own money earlier this morning but the transaction bounced; clearly I was very wrong in thinking that my insubordination would go unnoticed because apparently President Snow has my every move watched from all sides. The longer this goes on, the harder it is for me to keep my emotions in check and it's particularly hard when I look up from the table top and see the affected smiles of the couple sitting across from me.

The woman directly in front of me has a wig of dark green ringlets that stand on end as if she's just received an electric shock and a deep surgical engraving of a cantering horse on each cheek. Just looking at her makes me sick to the stomach because every time she speaks or moves her mouth the carvings ripple realistically, reminding me of the horses that pull the tribute carriages in the parade. Her partner, another woman, has a face so heavily tattooed with intricate sliver strands that it's hard to make out what her original skin colour was. I find myself staring at them, once again completely gobsmacked by their bizarre fashion choices.

'Um, have you considered sponsoring Rue Sirco…?' My voice comes out sounding forced and Seeder glances at me worriedly and squeezes my hand under the table. Her concern for me makes me want to cry because she should be worrying about Rue and Thresh and not about me. I take a deep, steadying breath and paste a huge and extremely fake smile onto my face. '…she received a seven in training and…'

'No dearie...' I'm interrupted by the heavily tattooed woman. She giggles in a high pitched, girlish fashion before she continues. '…we have bet a lot of money on Thresh and we want to see him win.' The smile slides off my face as a wave of resentment nearly overpowers my self-control because, once again, these people have made it all about themselves. Yes, they are giving money to keep Thresh alive in the arena. But they only want to keep him alive in the first place because they have bet even more money, possibly thousands and thousands that he will win the Games and they don't want to lose that money or lose face in the fact that they have possibly picked the wrong tribute. I sink down in my chair, wondering how much more of this I'm expected to take and hoping against hope that this breakfast is nearly over even though I know that this will mean the start of the Games and the inevitable bloodbath that follows.

* * *

'Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!' Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out, filling our little booth and the rest of the room. The words seem to bounce off the inside of my skull.

'… let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!'

'…let the Games begin!' I gulp and stare hard at the small screen in front of me, forgetting to blink, forgetting even to breathe. I'm not the only one; silence now fills the entirety of the mentors' suite as we wait for the countdown to start. The sponsors have finally left and the mentors are all enclosed in their booths, staring at their personal screens, just like Seeder and I. Even Finnick Odair seemed subdued when he came in to wish us good luck a few minutes ago. Not that it's _us_ who need good luck.

I was right, although it's of little comfort now as I watch from the perspective of Rue and Thresh as they are lifted slowly up the cylindrical tubes and into the open air of the arena. Both of them have a screen dedicated solely to them; across the bottom of each is a line of flickering medical notes. Blood pressure… heart rate… oxygen saturation and a couple of other numbers that I'm sure will tell me some other piece of vital medical information. In a small corner at the top of the screen is a number showing the exact amount of time that the two of them have been in the arena; seventeen seconds.

I swallow painfully and drag my eyes away from my best friend's petrified expression to glance down at the device that was given to me a few minutes ago by one of the Gamemakers; a sophisticated piece of tech the size of a man's fist that projects a holographic image of the arena into the air in front of us. This year it shows a vast area of woods, grasslands and a huge lake. There are two pulsating red dots that show us exactly where our tributes are and a further twenty two pulsating blue dots that show us where all the other tributes are. It's all very complicated although Seeder doesn't even blink; she's obviously seen it all before, year after year.

My eyes flick automatically back to Rue's screen as she stands on her metal plate, staring wildly around her, clearly trying to work out where she is and what her next move should be. She's shaking so hard that I wonder how she manages to keep upright but if she falls off the plate then it will trigger the buried mines. The camera zooms in, giving us a close up to her face and my heart clenches at her expression of pure terror. Her heart rate, which was already high, speeds up even further as the seconds tick by. My own heart gallops in my chest and I clench my hands to it, afraid that it will jump out completely unless it's restrained.

Twenty six… twenty seven… twenty eight… twenty nine…

Somehow, in that moment I know that I would do anything to get Rue out of this situation, even if it meant going back into the arena myself. I want to take back my words during the Victory Tour… the words that sent both of our lives spinning out of control with so little restraint. Why did I ever question the authority of the Capitol? Why did I refuse to play their game? It's too late… it's far too late… I imagine myself on air in the Presidential mansion right now and President Snow's satisfied face as he sees my anguished expression. Broken and defeated. It's not me in the arena this year but it might as well be and I'm struggling to keep my panic in check because, in a way, I'd rather I had the physical threat and the proximity of twenty three other tributes instead of the invisible and yet ever present company of President Snow, who's always several steps in front of me.

'Hold it together… hold it together… hold it together…' I breathe the words over and over and over again. I'm not sure whether I am speaking to Rue or to myself. Rue locks her shaking knees in place and stands up a little straighter, almost as if she can hear me but Seeder grabs one of my hands and squeezes it tightly, seemingly thinking that I'm about to fall apart.

'Breathe Maya,' her voice is soft and gentle but her eyes remain glued to Thresh's screen and when I glance over at her, I see an echo of my own pain in her face. This clearly doesn't get any easier as the years go by.

Forty seven… forty eight… forty nine…

For the first time, I glance up at the big screen across the opposite wall, which is currently showing a panned-out view of the Cornucopia and all of the tributes in their wide half circle around it. I pick out Rue immediately; she's directly in front of the sparse piney woods and they should give her some cover if only she can get there. Woods, bright sunlight and a strong wind… a lake with enough drinking water for all of the tributes. The arena looks to be a good one although I know well enough that looks can be very deceiving; the lake water might be poisoned and that promising looking forest could contain a vast array of predators with a taste for human flesh. Even so, at the moment Rue's main enemy is the close proximity of twenty three other tributes.

I swallow, actually slightly amazed to find myself thinking these things, all things considering but despite my fear I am already calculating Rue's chances. I'm already thinking like a mentor and this fact simultaneously repulses me and makes me feel slightly relieved because maybe just maybe this will allow me to help Rue. At the same time I am very very sure that I am probably one of the worst mentors in this room; It's clear to everyone that I have no idea what I'm doing, especially when it comes to dealing with the Capitol sponsors. The two conflicting thoughts are rather confusing.

Fifty eight… fifty nine… sixty…

Rue leaps off her plate like a gazelle. I'm amazed by her lack of hesitation as she darts in towards the centre of the spoils before half of the other tributes have even taken a single step. Her heart rate and blood pressure sky-rocket and she all but stops breathing. My heart rate soars to match Rue's and my muscles tense, as if I'm the one running for my life. I can taste the adrenaline on the tip of my tongue. I can feel the danger in my own skin.

'Get out of there…' I wish now that I hadn't suggested that she go into the danger zone for something as trivial as a sleeping bag or a blanket. If something happens…

Rue's moving quickly and she barely loses stride to scoop up a large loaf of bread and a small leather pack. Then, just as she turns to sprint away, another tribute; a tall dark skinned athletic-looking girl, armed with a long knife runs towards her.

'Run!' The harsh word leaves my mouth as I try and shout a warning to my friend. But Rue has put on a burst of speed and somehow manages to get away, running with all of her might towards the sparse pine woods and anyway, seconds later, the dark skinned girl collapses to the floor. She is writhing on the ground, choking on her own blood, her throat slit by none other than Thresh, who is now making his way out from the centre of the fray, armed to the teeth and carrying two packs which are surely filled with choice supplies.

Rue takes off at speed into the woods with her sparse pickings from the Cornucopia, travelling over four miles in the first hour. She reaches an area of thicker trees; beeches and oak, interspersed with pockets of willow and alder because the surrounding ground is becoming distinctly marshy. I'm surprised by what she does then; instead of continuing onwards, she chooses a tree and climbs up into the canopy above. She's not nearly far enough from the Careers for my liking and I'm sure that she ought to keep moving for as long as she can. I feel distinctly jumpy, even though there's no one close to her; the nearest tribute is the girl from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen, and she's over a mile away and still moving away.

Rue settles herself in a wide three-pronged fork and slips the tiny pack off of her shoulder. I'm disappointed by the contents; as well as the loaf of bread, the pack contains a spare pair of thick woollen socks, a small water skin and a packet of dried meat, dried fruit and a handful of crackers. Rue stares at the assortment for a few seconds, clearly thinking hard, before carefully removing her jacket, placing everything in its centre and pulling in the corners to create a small bundle which she hangs off a nearby branch.

She then turns the leather pack inside out and uses her fingers and teeth to work free a long strip of the lining. I'm still trying to work out what she's up to when she suddenly manages to rip out a piece that is several inches long. Swiftly, she turns the pack right way round and replaces her things back inside it. She then pulls down her trousers and I flush with embarrassment for her sake. I'm about to look away, to give her as much privacy as I can when she lowers her mouth to the waistband and rips out a long section of the elastic. She then shimmies back into her trousers, throws her pack over her shoulder and climbs swiftly down the tree once more.

When she reaches the ground, she pauses, looking around carefully to make sure that she is alone before moving over to the nearest wetland area a few hundred yards away. I'm still wondering what she's up to when she finds what she's looking for; a young willow. When she snaps off a two pronged fork I suddenly understand and the rush of pride makes dizzy. Quickly, expertly, Rue fashions herself a slingshot. When she's done, she tests it out by shooting several small rocks into a nearby bush. Then she puts several rocks in her trouser pocket.

'She's doing great, Maya.' I start violently; I'd actually forgotten that Seeder was beside me. It was almost as though I was in the arena with my best friend.

'Yes, she's doing great...' I echo. _But for how long?_ I add, silently in my mind. The Games have only just begun.

* * *

Sorry for the long wait between updates. I am currently in the third year of my PhD so I've got very little free time.


	10. Exhausted

**Exhausted**

'Maya?' I start violently, jerking my heavy head off my hands and blink stupidly up at Seeder and Finnick who have just entered the District Eleven booth together. It takes me several seconds to focus my exhausted brain but as soon as I do, I glance over at Rue's screen and breathe a sigh of relief; it's two o'clock in the morning and the arena is so dark that I can barely make her out, but the live monitors at the bottom of the screen tell me everything I need to know. Rue is curled in a foetal position in a wide fork between two think branches. Yesterday, after spending two freezing nights in the arena, she stumbled across a large area of dry rushes and spent the day weaving herself a blanket to keep the wind off. I was already impressed when she amazed me even further by folding the construction over on itself and sewing up the edges with bits of creeper. She then placed several armfuls of the sodden moss in the hot sun to dry for several hours and when the chill of evening came along, she stuffed the blanket with it. It seems to be doing the trick; last night her body temperature dropped too low and she was forced to get down from her tree several times in order to warm herself up, a risky business, because the Careers were on the prowl again.

In just a few hours, the sun will rise on the tributes' fourth day in the arena. So far it's been pretty uneventful for my best friend; she's spent her time searching for food and spying on the Career's base camp when they vacate it to hunt for other tributes. I only hope that she continues to watch only and doesn't try to make a raid on their supplies. From the Capitol, we watched the boy from District Three carefully extricate the buried mines from around the Cornucopia. Somehow, he managed to fiddle with the complex internal wiring and reactivate the things, which, as far as I'm aware, is a total first in the History of the Hunger Games. He then buried them carefully around the Career's pile of stores so that they don't have to leave a guard when they go out on the hunt.

'Maya?' I start again and look back towards Seeder and Finnick.

'S-sorry…' The word is broken by a long, jaw-breaking yawn. 'N-nothing to report; they're both still asleep. Oh and someone has signed over another large sum of credit to Thresh.' I glance down at the device that tells me the precise amount with a measure of both disbelief and anger; disbelief that people here have so much money and that someone in the Capitol is clearly awake at this time to complete the transaction, and anger at the fact that the column beside it, Rue's column, still shows a grand total of zero. Seeder places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently which makes me squirm away mechanically.

'I'm here now and Chaff has promised to be here first thing in the morning. You can go to bed.' I'm shaking my head before she has even finished the sentence; she's been saying the same thing for the past three days. I don't know why she thought I'd listen now, when I haven't before.

'No, I have to be here.' My voice comes out sounding flat and emotionless. I'm simply stating a fact; I have to be here, this is not up for discussion.

'Maya, you're not doing Rue any favours by keeping yourself up for three days without rest.' I glance over at Finnick with some irritation, because he has no business being in our booth and no business telling me what to do. His expression stops the snappy retort before it can leave my mouth because for the first time since I met him he seems to be serious and sincere. 'You need to be alert if you want to help her. You need to trust your fellow mentors, they're your team mates. You're no good to Rue if you're like a zombie from lack of sleep. You're not a machine.'

 _'Sheb, look, we're a team. I know you want to protect me and that's okay but you can't if you're like a zombie from lack of sleep. You're not a machine.'_ I gasp, totally unprepared for the sudden onslaught of memory and find myself blinking back the easy tears that always surface when thoughts of my older brother catch me unawares.

'How…?' I choke out the word and wipe my hand furiously across my eyes. I am suddenly and dizzyingly angry at Finnick; because of his interference, because he brought my brother into the conversation and because I know, deep down, that he is right.

'I was a mentor last year too, Maya.' I nod once, avoiding eye contact with him. 'Go and get some rest.'

'Stop telling me what to do!' I snap childishly, before I can stop myself and I immediately feel my face growing hot. It takes a Herculanean effort to pull myself out of the immature fit of temper so that I can apologise and regain some of my dignity.

'S-sorry Finnick, I… I know that you're right.' I turn to Seeder. 'Are you sure you'll be okay, without me?' I feel my face growing even hotter before I've even finished the question; of course Seeder is going to be okay. She actually _knows_ what she's doing. The fact that I made it home alive last year is purely down to her. 'Will you wake me up if anything changes?'

'Of course Maya.' Seeder pulls me up out of the chair and crushes me against her chest, kissing the top of my head. I squirm away automatically, embarrassed to be treated like the child I am in front of Finnick. Maybe it's because I don't _feel_ like a child anymore. The past year has increased my mental age by several decades and my body is slow to catch up.

'Get away from the situation for a couple of hours. Get some food and some sleep. Nothing will happen until the morning.' I want to ask Seeder how she can be so sure because we are talking about the arena and the Gamemakers unpredictability, but I'm afraid of coming across as a stroppy child again.

'Okay,' I finally say, slowly and reluctantly, 'but just a couple of hours.' I clarify, turning to go. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Seeder mouthing a silent 'thank you,' to Finnick and my face suddenly flushes again. I walk out of the mentors' suite as quickly as I can without actually running. Seeder's right about one thing; as guilty as it makes me feel, I do need to get away from the situation for a couple of hours.

The District Eleven apartment is sunk in half-light and the silence around me seems unnatural and oppressive as I tiptoe quickly over to my own room, my heart-rate accelerating with anticipation. It's so stupid because there is clearly no physical threat and I should be relishing the time to myself, away from the mentors suite and the multiple television screens and cameras. I glance up at the dark ceiling involuntarily and shudder because I know that the solitude here is just an illusion and the walls here are probably just as laced with hidden cameras and microphones. If he wanted to, I'm sure that President Snow could watch me in the shower if he felt so inclined. The thought repulses me.

Shutting the door between me and the eerie loneliness of the rest of the apartment makes me feel slightly better. My suite of rooms is almost exactly how I left it although someone has tidied the bed clothes and there's a new outfit hanging in front of the wardrobe; a dress the colour of the sky on a summer's day. I override the automatic lighting until the room is illuminated with a gentle orange glow that reminds me of the dying embers of a fire. Then I quickly assess my body's needs; sleep is clearly of highest priority but I also need to wash and eat something. I cross over to the bedside table and use the silver mouthpiece to order the first two items on the menu without bothering to find out what they are. I take a shower as I wait for the food to arrive, hitting blindly at the knobs and dials on the walls so that I am assaulted with a deluge of icy water as well as several different types of soaps, shampoos and conditioners all at the same time. It takes me several minutes to wash off the various cosmetics and by the time I step out of the shower, my skin is tingling all over and I'm shivering violently but I also feel more alive and more awake than I have in days. I ignore the pressurised air that will dry me instantly and wrap myself instead in a thick towel before making my way back to the bedroom.

The food is sat on the bedside table; a thick onion soup with fingers of buttery toast and a large slice of Madeira cake. I'm suddenly starving and I can't get the food into my mouth fast enough. Although there is always stuff available in the mentors' suit, I haven't really been eating much of it. The rich canapés and almost indigestible pastries have become less and less appealing to me as the days have gone by. Less than five minutes later, I slump back against the thick downy pillows as my earlier tiredness returns with a vengeance. I close my eyes and let my body sink into the soft mattress. It feels good to be able to let go, if only for a little while. Nightmares are usually no stranger to me when my head is as disturbed as it is now but tonight my brain has granted me a reprieve and the next time I open my eyes the room is full of bright sunlight.

I sit up too quickly and it takes several seconds for my head to catch up with the rest of my body. Then I look over to the window and almost instantly, I am aware that I have slept long past the intended two hours because the sun is already low over the west of the Capitol. I push shaky legs out of bed and stand up, head swimming. How long was I asleep for? I glance around wildly, hoping to find a clock or some other indication somewhere in the room but there's nothing. The room is almost identical to how it was last night except that the dirty crockery has been cleared away and a basket of fresh breakfast pastries and fruit now sits on the bedside table.

Instead, I stagger over to the window to look at the sky which would normally tell me the time very accurately if I were at home in District Eleven. Here, the rugged skyline of tall buildings makes it harder but I come to the conclusion that it is early evening, perhaps five or six o'clock and that means that I've been asleep for around fourteen hours which would explain why my head feels so woozy.

Rue. Panic seers through me, erasing all trace of the lingering sleepiness in my body and mind. Anything could've happened in the last fourteen hours; I have to get back to the mentors' suite as fast as possible. I can only hope that Seeder really would've come good on her promise if anything had happened to Rue during that time. I glance down at my body, suddenly becoming aware that I am stark naked and that the damp towel from last night's shower is piled on the floor over by the bed. I suppose that will make things quicker.

I cross over to the bathroom to use the facilities before returning to the room to find some clothes. The dress that Clio has selected for me is still hanging from the wardrobe door and I pull it over my head without any hesitation; as much as I'd like to rebel and choose something else to wear from the vast selection in the wardrobe, I don't have the time, and anyway Clio seems to have noted my earlier remonstration and is now providing me with decent clothes once again.

I make my way to the mentors' suite in record time but as I step out of the lift, the noises coming from the room beyond the carved wooden door directly across from me, suddenly has my heart skipping as adrenaline thrills through my veins. My joints lock and for half a second I am frozen in place, with one foot inside the lift and the other on the thick plush carpet of the hall. Then I am pushing open the door to the room, with no recollection of ever crossing the intervening space.

'What?' My exclamation is not heard over the noise in the room beyond because the arena is on fire and the huge screen opposite the door shows an aerial shot of a scene of total destruction. The camera flicks back to a more normal view of the Career group surrounding a tall oak tree, seemingly containing a cornered victim. I pause only long enough to ascertain that it isn't Rue before I sprint over to our booth.

'What happened?'

'Maya,' Seeder's voice is surprisingly calm, considering the situation.

'Hello Miss Maya,' Chaff says jovially, waving a hand containing a delicate cut-glass goblet in my general direction and slopping its contents all over himself in the process. The smell of raw spirits makes my head spin from the other side of the booth and I gag involuntarily.

'What happened?' I repeat. My searching eyes find Rue's screen and I exhale a long breath of relief as I see that she is alive. After the initial relief, I become aware of her situation and turn in horror towards Seeder.

'How did she get up there? _And do they know she's there_?' Because Rue is perched high in the branches of an ancient oak tree at the edge of a small clearing. It's the same clearing that I saw seconds earlier and below her the tributes from the Career pack are grouped around another tree, predators surrounding a cornered quarry.

'They don't know that she's up there,' Seeder reassures me quickly. 'They're more focused on the girl from District Twelve.' I spin in a quick circle so that I can see the footage that is being broadcast onto the main screen on the wall behind me and feel my heart twinging slightly when I see Katniss Everdeen's terrified face peering out through the foliage of another oak tree. I still feel that strange connection to her, in spite of the fact that I have never met her in person and probably never will now; she's trapped with no way out.

'Rue will be able to escape after night fall.' I'm actually rather surprised by Chaffs sobriety in spite of the glass of liquor he is holding and his earlier over-the-top greeting.

'There was a fire?' I ask shakily, sinking into a chair without taking my eyes off my best friend; Rue is trembling with fear and exhaustion and there is a long burn on her arm which looks excruciatingly painful. She needs medicine but we can't get it to her without the necessary funds.

'The Gamemakers set about a third of the arena on fire.' Seeder presses a button on the holographic device in the centre of the table and the arena is beamed up into the air in front of me. My eyes flick down briefly, noting the area she is pointing at before returning to Rue. 'Clearly they intended to drive the remaining tributes together which was obviously successful given the situation that Katniss and Rue are now in. Several of the others were also close at the time but they are now moving outward again.' I glance down at the holograph again, noting that two of the pulsating blue dots are creeping slowly outward from the clearing. I lean in closer to read the labels; the girl from Five and the boy from Ten. Not that it matters.

I look back towards Rue's screen and bite my lip hard to stop the hopeless, panicky tears that are now pricking at the corners of my eyes at her desperate situation and the pain that she is clearly in. I can't do _anything_ except sit here and watch.

'Why didn't you wake me up? You promised!' I say, loudly, suddenly lashing out at Seeder, despite the fact that I know it is unfair of me to do so.

'I'm sorry, Maya,' Seeder doesn't react to my rudeness; instead her voice seems to get even more gentle and this only serves to make me even more angry towards her. 'I was too busy trying to put pressure on the Gamemakers to stop the bombardment. Sometimes in the past they have been known to listen to us mentors. Rarely…' Her voice trails off; clearly they were unsuccessful this time.

I wonder how many of the other mentors were with her. I'll bet that Finnick tried to help. I realise that I'm finally starting to mellow slightly towards Finnick. In spite of his 'golden boy of the Capitol' persona, he's not all bad. I guess that sometimes you have to make the best out of the situation you find yourself in. I grimace ruefully and turn back to Seeder; I'm not ready to let this go; she should've woken me up when Rue was in danger.

'You could've sent Chaff!' It feels good to point my anger at someone other than myself. I feel so horribly helpless, watching from the comfort of the Capitol as my best friend suffers.

'Chaff only just arrived, a few minutes ago.' Well I suppose that explains his sober state.

'You said you'd be here this morning!' I snap, turning my annoyance onto him instead. I'm hoping that he will react because Seeder is staying so annoyingly calm and collected.

'Then I must've overslept just like you,' Chaff says easily, also refusing to rise at my anger.

'In case you haven't noticed, I…' And suddenly, like a pricked balloon, my anger disappears as quickly as it arrived and I sink slightly in my chair, defeated. 'What do we do?'


End file.
